Sometimes late at night beneath dark and stormy skies I ponder the extent. I reflect on the self imposed damage I have done in order to survive, I pull at strands of lost memories and singe them against a naked flame, the acidic burn is bitter in my throat a stark reminder to myself that fantasies do not exist within reality. The little voice that sleeps sporadically inside my mind tells me that the day is what we find, this same voice screams constantly at me every time I dare to dream, that fairy tales do not exist. You need only to look around and you will see the poison laced words that manipulate the force of existence, weaving between light molecules tainted with the blood of the devil. Shards of broken spirit fall from my soul every step I take toward redemption, the darkness called my name and I answered. Sometimes late at night when I am beneath the stars avoiding existence I like to rest my defensive mind and lose myself in the totality of my bruised and indifferent soul.
Karen Hayward ©2016