Author of "I Killed My Friends and It Thrilled Me"

Fabricated vacation

What is the number that one really needs
To nurture at least one of the planted seeds
Our crazy obsession with collecting and boasting
Somehow becomes a hindrance to moving

Onward’s a frightening, bleak proposition
So we hastily turn to artificial consummation
Until we get the number, we revel in stagnation
Trapped in some kind of fabricated vacation

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