Hello piles, my old friend
You've come to hurt my arse again
Because a swelling softly creeping
Grew big while I was sleeping
And the vein that was swollen in my arse
My poor arse
Hurts from swollen piles
On porcelain seats I cried alone
Arsehole hurts like shitting stones
'Neath the halo of a bathroom lamp
I winced with pain and felt my bottom cramp
When my arse was stabbed by the pain of a swollen vein
That wracked my brain
And hurt the ring of my arse
And then my naked arse was sore
Fucking piles are red and raw
Arsehole hurting with no shitting
Bleeding red with such hurting
Arsehole shitting blood and such despair
And I don't dare
To wipe my sore arse
"Fuck", said I, "I do not know
Why piles like a cancer grow
Hear my prayers that I might wipe you
Take my arms that I might reach you"
But my words, like silent raindrops fell
And echoed
In the wells of arse pain
And the clown, he bowed and prayed
To the porcelain god he made
And his arse flashed out its warning
In the pucker that it was forming
And the pucker said, "The arse of the clown is bleeding on the toilet walls
And toilet rolls"
And he cried from the pain in his arse
11 comments:
Very....moving. I have a tear in my eye...words really can't express what I feel...
I didn't know whether to cry or laugh, so did both.
I hope the ointment works. Not one to wish on an enemy even.
That all you got?
Try harder obo, this is pretty poor. Come on, you tweet 400 times as much as you blog. Rubbish.
You, sir, are a poet. Shakespeare, eat your arse out. Err, I mean eat your heart out.
Went to the doctors today. I asked the bloke sitting next to me what he was in for.
"Terrible piles," he said.
"Is that why you're sitting on that bean bag?"
"What bean bag?" he replied.
"You, sir, are a poet. Shakespeare, eat your arse out."
I think you're confusing Obo with...
No, I won't go there!
eat some fucking ruffage already. Shredded wheat, all bran, celery, fucking granola bars ffs. Lay off the diarrhetics like beer and coffee. If you don't, you'll prolapse in public and that'll be funny.
I'm told the best cure for piles is to place a lighted match under your arse.
This may be painful the first time but the next time they play up, you just rattle the matchbox.
I can just visualise Justin Beiber crooning this song to a bunch of damp knickered bints... Poetry in motions....
Great fun; we need a verse about the itching though and not being able to sit still.
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