It's the fading hours of another week
The city drinks skeletons with orange rabbits
I prefer to inhale mine with some scorched necks
Lose ourselves in coded worlds on disk
A wild desert, a cold continent, a distant planet
Awkwardness subdued like my urge to procreate
Memories made from laughs, not blackened disease
The proles ingest then gush their release
About as much as I reuse poem titles
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