If I were to discover that I could sell my blood
or my poems
or my thoughts.
Which I guess I could if my blood weren't
tainted with
drugs.
I would do so willingly.
I would jab a fountain pen 6 inches into
my heart and
write a poem,
with my
blood.
I would sell it without a second thought.
And use the profits
to pay for
my funeral.
For I would die.
If I could sell myself for money,
I would just die!
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