Plumbers butt,
the crack in an ass I find,
when I look hard enough.
Four rocks sit on a sill,
one for scratching,
one for biting,
one to kill.
Light shines between to rocks on a sill,
like the crack of an ass,
one rock smells bad,
one rock looks good,
another rock has blood on it,
but the forth rock isn’t there.
Red splatter on my drapery,
the shower curtain rod in the toilet,
no more shower curtain on it.
A body lies in the tub,
the walls echo a story of pain,
a rock was involved,
one hole in the tub,
draining blood,
where a bullet went through.
A rock sits downstairs,
covered in blood that stains the carpet,
with a crack running through it.
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