Mr. B
Mr. B poem stories
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ryah328
ryah328 Always ask why
Autoplay OFF   •   a year ago

Mr. B

Frozen hands grip the handle

of a knife that's but all blade

and squeezes until his icy fingers

drip with warm, red syrup.

The sweetest liquid it is,

but so risky to obtain.

He drops the self-pointed

culinary extractor of the

elixir he so craves.

It must not be his own,

but hers that he releases.

Flower girl, sugar blood

that warms his icy heart.

And when the secret can no longer be hidden

He shouts:

"Tell the jury they're wrong!"

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