Poetry

Paper Shell

By: Brittany Groat

 

Mr. Economics man

Don’t you think the fake bill

You spill is fucked

The green sheen on your small spleen

Shows through your paper thin skin.

No wonder why you talk so careful

You know if we saw through

You we’d rip you as easy as that

Paper

You tout like it’s our spout to

Nurse on like mothers milk.

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