Like a big old backed up poo

I lose sleep when I am happy;
I live in fear of my own dreams -
That they just might come true;
Stretching my capacity for fun and boredom inbetween -
My expectations in this life,
My tenacity on morsels in the spectrum of soul and strife:

Like a big old backed up poo.


So I'd rather not feel anything,
I'd rather not feel you,
I'd rather keep it to myself,
Like a big old backed up poo.


I wonder if this world we live in,
Is symbolic of a bum -
The emotions pile in landfill,
Packing, stacking senses numb.
And when we die where do we go?
Splashing Heaven's pool?
Waiting and dissolving on the rim a saintly stool?
Or snapping in mid-crapping,
Some half reincarnated?
Not done with life death sends you back,
Merely constipated?
Or even worse ceramic hearses
Curse you down with Flush of Hell.


And like a big old backed up poo,
Compact with wisdom in my age,
A reeking block I stop to think
"I'm sitting on the sink."