During daylight the bed seems humongous to the twin’s eyes.
Yet at night it seems to shrink to the sweaty bodies lying in it.
The youngest, Eugene and I,
Keep pinching the larger bodies of our older brothers
in search for space, individuality, air, and life.
We have become a red rose’s thorns.
Vulnerable to the stone-like bodies of Francis, Louis, and Joe.
They will not wake until it is too late.
Tomorrow they will walk under the sad sun,
Silent and solemn.