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The Great White King
The moon hangs low in the sky
like a testicle.
The stars shine with an everlasting twinkle,
reflecting their brightness off the porcelin cover,
of my toilet bowl.
The smell of death and mold is pugnant in the air,
as the brown log drifts across the tinted waters.
In my groggy daze, I slowly reach for that 2-ply goodness.
But Hark!! None is there.
I sob.
Untill I find that one lone sock...
The smell of feces is replaced of the kind of blue 2000 flushits
And it's good up to four months. And that is great goodness.
For I have a feeling that the cramps and foul smell
will once again overcome me and bring me back to my
porcelin King.
__________________
"You're not your job. You're not how much money you have in the bank. You're not the car you drive. You're not the contents of your wallet. You're not your fucking khakis. You're the all-singing, all-dancing crap of the world." - Tyler Durden
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