Stop signs,
or legal
fees,
roads paved
in their
blood.
I'll give you
ten cents,
pound for
pound
of human flesh.
Slice it thin,
real thin,
like that blade
by the deli
counter,
shiny metal
mixed with grease.
Wrap it
in that nice
brown packing
paper,
and tell me
how much
I'm worth.
All black
ink,
and white
glue,
and red
signs
and money,
money,
money.
Forums:
Reviews
No reviews yet.