Nine shitty poems.

We're heading for the last stop

This train allows

Before it heads back to where we're avoiding

We're looking for what others don't have

We're hunting for a new kind

Of free range human

The world, when you're coming on strong,

Seems to spin a little out of control

And if you don't try to hold on

You'll end up a projectile, sailing through space

Gaining momentum

Eventually finding the edge of the universe,

Or colliding with debris.

If you believe that's okay,

Then by all means, please, push yourself to the limit

Also try not to forget to bring with you

A sack lunch for your long strange trip

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