Life at this moment you cant be bullshitting
me. There isn't an April fools that's getting
even close to what we find ourselves hitting
any where near to this.  it's so unfitting.

But no matter the **** hitting the fan,  I haven't got
any bog roll. I can only poo outside before I'm caught.
But leaves are natures wipes and I'm dammed if aught
I'll sleep with skids on my sheets, but if I do I'll just smile.

But underneath I gag as the sweet corn is natures reminder
to wipe before, as they feel like coffee not  put through the grinder.
I feel like crap my legs woefully tanned, not because of the sun,
crap skidding my legs,  as if you lift the sheets its a gross viewfinder.