Syd Sick and the Disease,
Put their fevered minds to ease.
They didn't give a fuck,
Long as they didn't upchuck.
Singing Sirens in their ears,
Screeching sinister silent fears.
Delirious demons down on their luck,
Drowning diatribes they couldn't buck.
Flaming phlegm from nasty holes,
Puss filled boils like weevils' bolls.
Pop them for the sheer delight,
Drain them in a garish light.
Scratch that rash with all your might,
Tear the skin with claws of fright.
Tear it like you might die,
Infect it with a bloody sigh.
Sick Sikh Sheik Shah Singh,
Poured his heart out to the ring.
Filled a bucket full of blood.
Landed with a mighty thud.
Obese diabetes dapper Dan,
Engorged in French fries on a plan.
Beginning with a lack of control.
And ending with the dialysis dole.
Arthritic Art stressed his joints,
Steroids for the extra points.
Cancerous tumors inhabited brain,
Titanium joints that walk with a cane.
Silver sealed his fate.
Unprotected, he came and ate.
Syphilis and Gonorrhea were the test.
His AIDS cocktail is the best.
And so I end this sad, sick tale.
Be careful how you wield your ail.
How would you like your life to end?
Sick as hell, into nevermore, my friend?
Photo: University of Hong kong
Copyright 2004 © Ronald W. Hull