They who let the sweet hellish nectar flow down their throats,
Who stand by and watch as they collapse and fold,
Bellowing out little whispers as it takes hold,
Begin to wander in a shimmering world whilst their audience gloats.
Stuck in a mania, a benevolent euphoria,
They cannot stop. Basking in immortal glory
"Please stop for all that’s holy!”
Its claws dig in, grasping tight, injecting wretched neurasthenia.
It seeps through their veins
As their blood runs black,
They retreat and cower to avoid attack,
Abandoning their chariot yet the horses still pull the reins,
Lost, alone, fragile and broken
Who’s to say in a few hours they’ll be awoken?
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