I wish I could burn those years away,
And watch the memories disappear between the flames
Whispers of that hell go up in smoke,
I cover up my ears, lest thoughts provoke

I doo doo'd in my pants
And love the way it feels
The poo poo in my pants
Slithers down like eels

I am the **** snail

I scooch my **** along the floor
Leaving a trail of ***** matter
Caking the floor in ****
Call that my doo doo batter

I am the **** snail

I bring with me demise,
As I dawn my **** disguise
Hiding my empty pit
With this veil of stinky ****

I am the **** snail

Twilight blooms,
so does my prolapse
Leaving stains
along your doormats

I am the **** snail

The smell of ****
floods your home
It's oddly comforting
You're no longer alone

I am the **** snail.

My foul odor
calls, it beckons
Drawing people out
from all directions
They all squat down
And spread their *****
Trailing behind me
Their butts streak the grasses

WE are the **** snails

Her hair burns
in brazen  embers
along side her  hazel  eyes.
A brilliant afterglow trails    her   ,
coating the   fields
in a blazing
auburn  .
If  only  she  knew
of her  effortless
magnificence  ,

I've cut open my eyes
And to my surprise,
I found an old carousel projector
With millions of upsidedown pictures inside.

The machine starts to whir,
And my life flashes by,
Every memory frame by frame,
On these convenient little slides

Every laugh, and every smile
Every absence of joy,
Those slides seem to last longer on this carousel of poise.

All alone in my room,
Without anyone that cares
So I sit in solemn silence,
Amongst my world of squares.

I feel like I'm in control,
As I spiral further down,
Clenching my pieces tightly,
Begging to be found,
Knowing it's hopeless,
I lay my king on the ground.

My girlfriend called me short,
it struck me right in my feels,
she said, "It's ok, I'll love you anyways,
plus you can just borrow my heels"

Though my absence may make it seem
like I have disappeared,
the poems that I've left behind
make sure that I'm still here

I wanted to die
so I committed suicide,
strung by my neck like clothes out to dry

When I die
I want to be cremated
and have my ashes mixed with paint
just so someone can s
                                       p
                                         r
                                           e
                                             a
                                                d me
                                across a canvas.