Much like any other shit, this is how it started.
I asked out loud, “…was that me who farted?”
The smell was there but an unfamiliar scent.
Nevertheless, to the porcelain throne I went.
So here I am I’m sitting fast on the loo.
Then I realised this is a foreign poo.
I’ve been purging for ages but something’s not right.
Inside these bowels rages a terrible fecal fight.
Maybe there’s a blockage and it needs to be cleared.
This could be the end, something I’ve always feared.
So I decide to wipe now before I’m all done.
To give the shite help exiting the bum.
But it was a boggy marsh that greeted the paper.
Smudging my hole with a messy fecal caper.
This wasn’t a moment that could be saved with ease.
My rusty balloon knot was smeared with rancid grease.
It’s times like these you wish to end your life.
You’ve entered a world of sloppy brown strife.