camping without a sewer hookup

Violent urges
Match my dour dirges
The night is everlasting
This curse still casting.
Sour stomach bile
Builds the sick guile
As I roll my eyes
In time to your soft lies.
Full of shit and ready to burst
This amount of force usually hurts,
The doctor said go home
But I’ll stay where I roam;
My thoughts nauseated
With the content created.
A concentrated dosage
Of white sage Osage,
Crystals won’t be enough
To save me from the stuff.