Pile of Spit
These words plopping down onto the paper
Resemble a big, steaming pile of spit.
The pungent smells of the putrid vapors
Choke my nostrils in a great, gasping fit.
My eyes go blood-shot while seeing the stink.
My throat clenches, closing from the foul air.
My disgust rots at the way that I think.
My mind suffocates in a teary glare.
Then I flush the crap down the clogging drain
That contains my spiritual plumbing.
I try to remove the residual stains,
Plunging at the rank source of my dumbing,
But there's a blockage deep, seeping and thick.
This diarrhea makes my stomach sick.
Ok, it's not spit. And I know... this poem was made in poor taste.
poem by Tim Stensloff
Added by Poetry Lover
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