No amount of escapism,
Can protect me from frustration,
For I wrote such a heavenly poem,
Because of olfactory interrogation,
But when I finally ventured out,
To use the bathroom hence,
I once again freaked out,
At the shit on the toilet seat and sink.
This is what I’m living with,
And has once again triggered me,
Perfectly ever-triggering, triggering,
To the OCD.
Now I just need some validification,
And moral support,
(Yes I made that word up).