LIFE AS FECAL MATTER IN 2006
by CHEKonIT
You don’t see me as often as you once did.
Do you see me at all?
Or am I just liquid colour in the bowl that is my coffin?
You don’t have time for me anymore.
You shuttle me through your small intestine without even a casual ‘hello’.
I bring you gifts, but you’re too proud to take them.
You don’t even give me time to get the only hard-on I get the chance to make in life.
Yet sometimes, when you allow me to be in your presence, you hate me.
You eat your taco bell, you guzzle your antibotics, you eat your colours and preservitives like they’re going to prolong your life.
Yet you blame me for hanging around longer than I should.
How can you hate me when you know I love you?
Why?
Why do you say I stink?
You know I should smell earthy, yet you overload your senses with McDonalds and pizza.
DAMMIT, IT’S ALL YOUR DOING! IT’S NOT MY FAULT, YOU SELFISH SON OF A BITCH!
Why do you hurt me when you know I love you?
You know I am waste, but why do you have to hurt me so?