Constipation (Asshole Blues)

Clench my fist, and squeeze my

throbbing sphincter

until a bit of brown starts crowning...

...That’s as it should be,

though if I’d grant an entry;

(an operative tincture)

of the color red upon my brow

while I sit squirming, spitting mad

on my ivory throne, alone,

and without mercy,

I will undoubtedly disclose

the deepest of all treasured secrets

for one pitiful release

as if the KGB were on my case

with bolts and screws,

torturing my wrecked body

for a view inside the enemies

encampment...

If only I could flux,

or finally shit upon command!...

There’s nothing up my butt,

or sleeve...

No trick hid within these hands!...

Bleeding out from my pores,

I seep like gas in some old lot...

Farting hot just like a furnace

that might die from one more shot.

This constipation kills,

and when no pill can clear my gut

I’ll beg to suck two loaded barrels

just so at long last I'll be cut...

...and then, right as rain

sweat pours down,

agonized, I grip the sink

and bang both knees

together in erotic bliss

as I make my filthy stink!...

...At last I’ve dropped a Hershey Kiss!

I jump up in idiot glee

to view the doo that freed my weight...

I glance down, and sadly see

it’s just my heart

dying in a heaving mess...

...Jeeeesus Christ!...

Put to the test

just to be duped!...

I’ve crapped a precious piece of me

that will be missed so very soon

as I topple over on the bathroom tiles,

and swiftly die a wretched death...

...My struggle all for nothing!...

These Asshole Blues

bring sting

just like a theft

elicits vibes of violation,

like my ass was rented out...

Fuck these Blues!...

I need a breather!...

Tell me when I can crap out!

©

Slack

(Edit #4)

3/26/20