Submissions by mute_harlequin (Mutequin)

The sudden burst of wind deforms the temporarily long strands of emerald green grass. Under a humble and proud oak tree lay a sheep, peaceful and at rest; entirely satisfied with its existence and at ease with its every surrounding.

The wolf ahead dashed forward at lightning pace towards the sheep, ripping and tearing the flesh and fur off the sheep. The sheep's body was now entirely deformed, and the sheep was no longer at peace.

The wolf was satisfied with his meal, continuing to feast on the still living sheep while the sheep had no option but to let this vandal...

Happiness is a luxurious illusion, an occasion of my gargoyle's silence.
.
Anguish may be the only sustenance to extinguish my ruthless self loathing.
.
Preventing my shadow from escaping my psychological being is vital.  
.
Perhaps I'm unworthy of happiness at all.
.
Young still I may be, but anarchy is all I see.

You broke me
shattered me.
I want to watch you pick up the pieces
of me that remain,
and cut your sadistic hands
during the process.

I want to see a broken piece of me
embedded under your skin:
Nihilistic
canniballistic
romantic.

I hope that piece of me
stays within you
a constant reminder;
A permanent scar.

Don't try to wash it away
because I'll sink even deeper
and ensure that I continue
to take refuge
in your quivering flesh.

Bonded by blood, we are not
but soon I'll be in yours,...

He sits there
in his pale mask
with pale skin
locked in a pale room
with a pale soul
typing pale words
for a pale poem
to a pale website.

The chalked heart in his chest
reaches out to grasp others' necks
and squeeze until a breath is no more.

His mask talks to those close to him
uttering disgusting lies
saying he's fine and not shattered.

But he stays silent
to prevent the gargoyle trapped beneath his flesh
from lashing out and massacring the hearts and minds
of others.

When looking in the mirror...

Among the parade of dreary mottled grey, there was a one:
a one constantly marginalised and isolated.
One would tread on his trunk as he ran.
one would seek social guidance and education
but would instead be gifted with social outcast and hatred.
He forever trod on his trunk whilst running.

Left far too far to flee
the rapid, ripping wave
of shimmering gold
and blinding, rigid white

he was torn;
ripped;
cut;
clawed;
but the rest of them flew far far forward to fathom
the frigid nature of nature.
And heart aching,...