Allergic To Life

My mind is constipated.

I am wracked with life intolerance

That has me strapped to the mental toilet.

I sit and contemplate as I sit and formulate

My release from the struggle.

Thoughts pile up and get stuck and there I am

In the anticipation of a flush to unplug

My heinous head. How long must I wait this time around?

Who can say, I've been writing this poem

As I perch on a mental toilet

And hope not to have a heart attack from strain.