Sacrifice

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Tick. Tock. 

Tick. Tock. 

Tick. Tock. 

The hands swing by 

as someone told not a lie

Pitter-patter. 

Pitter-patter.

Pitter-patter. 

The rain cries 

as they sharpen the knives

Tap . . . tap . . . 

tap . . . tap . . . 

tap . . . tap . . . 

A finger moves 

wonder whose?

Their fingers grip the blade 

before they can even fade.

The blade in their hand 

bound together, like a band. 

. . . silence . . . 

 . . . nothing but silence . . . 



STAB! 

their core 

and nothing more 

slicing downwards 

then upwards 

Drip. Drip. 

Drip. Drip. 

Drip. Drip. 

onto the floor

towards the door. 

There it laid

where it made 

a pool of liquid 

when they rid 

of a ripe strawberry 

for the merry 

and for the things 

we call demons 

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