Living With I.B.S.
By Phil Soar
Living with this IBS,
My stomach’s always in a mess,
My bowels are unsure what to do,
Whenever I need to have a poo,
My mental state is past bizarre,
My feelings never go too far,
Just pain and suffering pray on me,
And all the stuff that comes out of me.
I know it’s nothing more than stress,
Although my ass is in a mess,
I have my days when I feel good,
They don’t last long, I wish they would,
The Doctors must be sick of it,
My visits always talk of shit,
And so many visits to the loo
They should have called me Whinnie the Poo
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