In the blue house
on the suburb
quietly standing a man.
Slowly sipping his tea
dreamy in last thoughts,
blending in cup by tail of the match.
You’ll die,
whispering bubbles,
which leaked from the liquid.
Shutters furtively opened
nodding with creak
-back and forth.
However on wallpaper
existed the red blot,
and under next
and next
and one more.
Eyes of the secret visitor
slide down right deeply
to the shady splash.
Oh God.
But the killer stayed in cool.
That was unexpected.
Then he walked up nearer
and now was felt his chill.
Almost within reach.
I don’t die alone,
told to those repulsive bubbles.
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