Ninth

So here lie
The merry men
Delirious and stinking of desire
The children of the sun
Each alone in their beds
Alone with their demonic thoughts
Wasting away into the day, the night, the day, the night
Slumbering like some long forgotten brown book on a dusty shelf
Tired faces
Two handed tremor
Twisted and demented
Purple nonsense half the time
Pink brain pain the other half
Crusade with these pills, and those, and these
Tired but not dead
It’s so tough to be tough
Red eyes look through me and ask
When will I be better?

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