The shark tank shrank
ten milliseconds past death
depending upon
the platitude of the hustle.
I ranked below average
the day that I died.
My technique of death
was combustion.
However, the papers I
held while I was in midst of flames
were fireproof.
How would anyone have
guessed that paper would survive
a fire? I died. The paper did not.
Oh well, such a life in
the moon glow ghost
world of the rapport
and Freeport sage.
Limiting me to heavy rage.
I keep rats enslaved.
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