Oy last edited by
A section for the poetic souls on the forum. My first piece, a commentary on constipation:
To Shart, Or Not To Shart, a poem by Oy.
Here I sit broken hearted, tried to shit but only farted.
Bought some pills to make me shit but they must be defective because here I sit.
Strained so hard I blew my heart, leave this world with one desperate fart.
Things to come left undone, a fart in the wind and an “I love you mum.”
There they found me, like a comedy skit, only in death was I able to shit.
Now I’m in Heaven, through the pearly gates, I can shit every day here, but I can’t masturbate. Boring.