The Bullys Mask

There are the quite different ones we can spy in a colony.

Labeled in bright colours, so that everyone can see what they are,

and like ravenous hyenas some rip them apart, merciless, and blood spills like a fountain.

The fear in the prey's eyes do nothing but accept it's forced fate.

Last struggles are made before it's final jerk of desperation.

The eyes twitch and turn dusty grey. 

The pink flesh turns yellow and pale. 

The jerking fingers now lie disgustingly still.

The mouth is opened like the wound in it's heart.

Some just watch. Bystanders. 

As if it's a sport or a jester at a festival,

With the potency to help, but with no intentions of getting thick velvet blood in their hands, 

Only the glares of pity lies on the victim.

The surrounding shadows they cast on the prey only darkens their world,

as if their silent dark life is not enough to cripple them,

they live in fear everyday of getting attacked.

In our society,

Where we pretend to wear the king's clothes only to find ourselves being the peasants,

Where we pretend to be fair with a heart of a fox,

Where we pretend have faith in those whom we don't trust,

We only pretend.

The anger we show to the prey, is just a mask.

To hide what some of us feel.