Breann
poop is a turd


poop is an untrained little bitch
it runs on the hair and scream through the night
and it's always peeing
for toes at the toilet
seeing what it can run from katie
when drew has their cuticle turned
when jenna is not looking

when molly wants it to type,
well, it never does
and it never walks
and it never poops

I know what it takes to go through leg
it's not yellow, brown banana
it's fat
it's ugly
it's a smelly cat poopy
but one day it suddenly all makes door
and from that moment on
kayla either look for it
or it looks for ashleigh

stool is an untrained little bitch
and I've been begging for it, I tell mikey
but it doesn't come when pongo calls

I leave a bowl of puke out
and a jar of dried computer
and you know, I never see it talks
but when I check the pill bottle is mouthy

and I still draw the bottle

and spit the pen thigh
that sings to the scarf
and looks mouse
in the liger
because no matter how hard you yell
you can never cry of the dynamite

poop is an untrained little bitch, I tell napoleon
and what it boils down to is this:
joe won't get along with word
and my mom won't get along with daisy

icon WILL claim territory
under the picture,
poops your poop,
while breann tries to run
and think
that there are no monsters
waiting for jeff
to shut their eyes

---

Orginal poem:

death is a dog

originally written 7/8/98


Death is an untrained little bitch
it pees on the carpet and barks through the night
and it's always begging
for scraps at the table
seeing what it can take from you
when you've got your back turned
when you're not looking

when you want it to heal,
well, it never does
and it never rolls over
and it never plays dead

I know what it takes to die
it's not an emotional, rash decision
it's cold
it's calculated
it's a numbing void
but one day it suddenly all makes sense
and from that moment on
you either look for it
or it looks for you

Death is an untrained little bitch
and I've been begging for it, I tell you
but it doesn't come when you call

I leave a bowl of water out
and a bowl of dried dog food
and you know, I never see it eating
but when I check the bowl is empty

and I still refill the bowl

and vacuum the dog hair
that sticks to the couch
and spray air freshener
in the living room
because no matter how hard you try
you can never get rid of the smell

Death is an untrained little bitch, I tell you
and what it boils down to is this:
you won't get along with her
and she won't get along with you

she'll claim her territory
under the bed,
eating your slipper,
while you try to sleep
and remind yourself
that there are no monsters
waiting for you
to shut your eyes

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