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Jar of Blood

He lines them up
He grows them tall
And while they’re still
Green with youth

He stabs them
Deep into their heart
And leaves the
Cruel blade
In the open wound

The blood oozes down
The shiny metallic blade
The mahogany handle
And drips
Into jars and bottles

One by one he extracts their blood
With his sharp, stabbing knives

The smell is saccharine
Poignant and sweet

He tips the jar
And drinks

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