We had to write a line and then fold the page so it couldn't be read, and hand it to the next person.
The resultant mess of random lines was then re-worked into a more cohesive poem, but the original version, in this case, was by far the best.
I have retained the capitilisation and punctuation as written.
I'm not sure about the other authors, but the second-last line is courtesy of sinisterglint, and the last line is mine.
I wait for you at the boundaries of dream, all shadow wrapped
the 10km hub of prosperity
The dead of the night itches at my brain
Eventually life whistles a tireless tune.
I cannot go on drifting forever
re-enforced the wrong meaning
he scratches his testicles with lazy strokes
It was, at last, the final aching release.