Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Francis Nov 2023
He sweats when he poops,
Not just any old ****,
A **** of glory,
A **** of a lifetime.

The kind of ****, that jacks your heart rate,
The kind of ****, that makes you breathe heavy,
A **** so intense that your bowels moan,
And generate a need to remove your shirt.

The cold, yet intense sweats of this ****,
Cramps in the lower abdomen, sharp and warm,
The sweet relief of tension, when that one big log comes out,
All hot and steamy.

Followed by a stream of liquidy brown,
He wonders how his body even operates,
The unholiness of what exits through,
That holiest of holes, next to the birth stump and boulders.

Pondering the consumption of two nights before,
He sits bare-assed on this porcelain mouth,
Ingesting every bit of solids, liquids and gasses,
That exit from his **** canal.

Clothes tossed onto the floor,
His ******* harden from the unpleasant draft,
Caused by the perspired glands,
That shiver from trauma and nightly air.
Jesus Christ, what an experience.
Francis Nov 2023
The expectation,
Of you to accept the inhalation,
Of the evaporation,
Of someone else’s waste.

Make it make sense,
How the walls of stalls,
Fail to reach its maximum highs and lows,
For all of us to share what we release.

We listen to the air,
That flubs between *** cheeks,
Just as the **** projects deuces,
Into the bowl that cups the sound of wind.

We hear the moans and sighs,
Of relief, constipation and strain,
As we urinate nearby,
Adjacent to the incomplete **** shack.

Make it make sense,
How tasting the gases,
Of Joe Blow, blowing out his insides,
Is a customary to our community.

A sociological experiment,
Deemed to generate sociopathy,
As we laugh at the flatulence,
And giggle at one’s vulnerability.

Merely a forgotten fact,
That we have been there too,
We go there every day,
And pretend that others don’t do the same.

And without a mere act of courtesy,
The space is left filthier than the last,
Because why be considerate for the next?
Someone’s job is to cleanse my waste.

Furthermore is the neglect,
Of faucets, soap and towels,
Aimed to **** bacteria,
That exits biological passageways.

Why oh why,
Must I be forced to study,
Why this is simply unacceptable,
This concept of oversharing?

Recurring stage fright,
Readily apparent,
When forced to **** beside men,
More than double my size.

I’ll simply never understand,
How by design,
What we wouldn’t do in front of house guests,
Is something we are urged to do in front of strangers.

With a bunch of hairy, overweight men,
Who clear their throats, bladders and colons,
In my personal space.
Seriously, what the ****?
Francis Nov 2023
What goes in, always,
Comes out,
Through the ******* of life,
Which is **** itself.

Such a waste,
That we are born,
And die,
Fighting for things,
******* things,
That we can’t take with us,
When we die.

What a ******* waste it all is,
Yet somehow,
Everything and everyone is needed,
For the next phase of waste.
**** becomes fertilizer,
We become reborn,
Into whatever else is **** out next.
Philosophically marvelous— just kidding
Shakytrumpet Oct 2022
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
I would like to formally apologize for having written whatever this is.
I, shamefully, admit I giggled throughout writing this.
i was late
through no fault of my own
at least
that's what i tell myself
just one of those occasions
where try as you might
the universe won't allow you
to leave on time
standing at the threshold
one final pat of pockets
to check i had
all that i needed
looking up
to gauge the need
for coat or umbrella
i witness
an inhumane globule
of avian faeces
viscous and creamy
in colour and consistency
exploding upon the path
two steps ahead of me
i see no sign
of the culprit
hearing only its cacophony
of enjoyment
or maybe disappointment
into the distance
Karijinbba Feb 2021
One of you continues to ****
my head E-mailing from HP
covertly unprovoqued.
Your hateful angry senseless
defecated words
are your property not me.

"My roses aren't planted in your dark
nasty places for your misery and pain"
You aren't the center of my Universe
come out from your dark cloud
stop your pooping rain
on me find another victim.

Satan doesn't want you in hell
and God won't let you in
By: karijinbba, 2020.
Elizabeth Henry his child molester
girl friend nurse from hell
1983 present
the other Charles manson
susan WR ratano
Arthur Rat human predators
users haters womb less
childless **** have no life
Jeff A, John Ch no cojones only selfish agendas blind deaf mute
habitual drug user *******
snakes in every mother's paradise
sadistic Nazis hiding under a new flag named Susan W Rat ta ta no
HP and Facebook
should require finger printing
to create accounts on here to not allow bullies maggots the stalker, sociopaths
writing about their excrement
Cease and desist.
Mark Wanless Dec 2020
cleaning up cat ****
again   gateway to heaven
i hope in something
Luna Sep 2020
I wonder if
Emotionally stable people just
Sit on the throne in the mornings
Flushing out
Unwanted emotions
Filtering through
The daily
Maria Mitea Jun 2020
This is the time of enlightenment.

Sunday morning I am running at the farm market,
for buying three pounds of organic enlightenment,
Glutes tight, chest stiff,

Every single step is planned and marked on the asphalt,
I have an important goal to reach, not to teach.

I am in a big rush, stay away and keep the road clean,
You know what I mean. Unfortunately,

A little bird pooped on my forehead and made me mad,
Hoaxed by this joke I stepped on some dog ****,

That got me mad even more, while an old lady asked me
to carry her over the pit. I mimic, wait

“I hurry now, but I will give help after,
I buy three pounds of organic enlightenment”

Without messing up with any acceptance.
I have an important goal to reach, not to teach,

I keep running, every Sunday morning at the farm market,

This is the time of enlightenment.
Next page