The Final Sin

Vanity, bitches

Graphic created by H. R. Sinclair using Canva. Original image by Евгений Горман.

Beauty. Arrogance. Belligerence. Selfishness. Idolization.

Image by Pedro Dias.

Butterflies - Peggy Coke

This was her favorite part of the day. She stood naked in front of the mirror, slowly tracing her thin and delicate hands over her body to appraise any new or unusual bruises. Her hands moved to her face where she admired its smoothness and youth. Her pride.

Carefully, as always, she began to paint her canvas - her work of art - her mask. Dark, heavy eyes, and red, red lips.

She plucked each pin from her black hair like it was the last spring wildflower and let it fall in springlike clumps about her white shoulders.

Beauty and root sundered in the action to preserve. With a curved and careful hand, she molded each lock into a fitting frame, a means to bind her masterpiece.

She stood for seconds, hours, eternity. Devouring herself - having seconds, thirds, fourths.

A girl to glut and gormandize until the churning of her guts sent her reflection swirling.

The distorted image melting, burning, merging into understanding a single beat for certain in the choral horror of her mind.

Eyes holding constant vigil, hands grappling with a lock, drawer and eyes and mouth all opened welcoming cold steel communion.

Her lips closed over the barrel like a rose.

Butterflies.

© Peggy Coke 2025

Image by Pedro Dias.

Kartenhaus: A Beautiful Sham - The Forgotten Muse

Come one, come all!


Come into my Jenga tower.

Look upon my paper throne.


Shhh…

Your names have no meaning here, acolytes.


Shall we speak of Luminescence?

Mine, of course.


Hand me that looking glass!

Let me gaze upon my sublimity.


Do my ears deceive me?

I do not hear any ovation!

Can you not see I’m deserving?


Feed me with your shallow worship and pretend panegyrics.

Your beholden stare is benediction to me.


Cloying Fragrances.

Crumbling statues.

Fraying wallpapers.


Oh! never mind the flickering illusion…


This house of lies will hold!


Vanity of vanities, saith the Preacher, vanity of vanities; all is vanity.

(Ecclesiastes 1:2)

© The Forgotten Muse 2025

Image by Chris F.

„WHO ARE YOU?“ - Julie Radford

I AM. I AM. I AM.
1990fake.
naked. bare. free.
alone. together.
quiet. loud.
fear. far. Frau… fraud?

watch me - burn.
hear me - moan.

lift my - skirt <3
…it‘s 1990fake.

© Julie Radford 2025

Image by AOG PIXELS.

Flawless - Edward Swafford

Step inside, welcome to “wonderland”
quixotic quick fixes separate us, from
them and they = therefore
smooth your caducous concerns from
that unremarkable face of yours, let’s
ENHANCE
the guttural glow ($)
in this pandemic of lines and furrows
be seen as evergreen, absinthian tonics
◆TiGhTeN◆ | ↑LiFt↑ | ⚫ VoLuMiZe⚫
at a presaged price
forget-me-not petals fall, ever so slowly
from your au naturel belief, a bouquet..
W
I
L
T
I
N
G
beauty is forever in bloom, and envy?
it’s never enough
mark unsightly lines with imagination
trace your way around every inviolable
IMPERFECTION
yes, yes, yes (!)
you’re just a slew of injections away
from your bricolage, your bravura self
a lineless ideal
a razed role model, your idealized aura
don’t you want sElF cOnFiDeNcE¿?¿?¿?¿
P
R
O
S
P
E
R
in preposterous times with our risible
range, a revolution
topical entropic (a neurotic hot topic!!)
anti-aging | pro-collagen | con-esteem
cure-alls for your capstone curtain call
MASK
all your fears (™)
vitamins A-Z grant vitality in 26 verbose
steppingstones, so rinse *and* repeat
every. single. day.
for the rest of your days, or risk societal
repercussions as archetype eyes fixate,
on you.

© Edward Swafford 2025 - A version of this poem was originally published in The Howling Owl.

Image by Israyosoy S.

Pride - kōtare

Pride is a poisonous dagger
That pierces
Anything in its path
Of value
Pride is the silence
Of sorrow
How he pulled over
Let her out of the car
So she could escape
His angry wrath
She hands him
Her son
An inflated basketball
With pure excitement
With joy
That he’s found something
He likes
She vows she will never
Be her father
Too proud to be challenged
Too proud to be wrong
Too proud to say I love you
When she missed
Too many rebounds
Too proud to say
You are enough
I am enough
Too proud to say
Amazing effort
Too proud to say
I am sorry
And on deaths door
Too proud to say
Thank you for coming

© Kōtare 2025

Image by Cottonbro Studio.

Mirror - Maarten Bleijerveld

Not sure what it is
Standing there in the window, a window of reflection
through which to observe the past, see the present and
glance to a desired future.
Every detail of the journey so far can be seen when
looking close and deep enough. Every discussion in
your head, any defeat shows up without you asking.
While it was hiding away for any to see, it’s there in the
reflection.
A truth that is hard to swallow, the you that is, all these
secrets out in the open for you to see.
The reflection often not the manifestation of what you
set out to be, but what is.
The mirror, the real story, no reflection. The raw, the all
encompassing you
don’t be just a reflection
Be you In that mirror.

© Maarten Bleijerveld 2025

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