It might be… Pms

It might be,
pre menstrual cramp,
a drummer boy,
blade in hand
Perforating holes through
scars of ovaries.
Or it could be the tiredness
that 5am brings in the silence of
it might be nothing,
or a little in between.
It is perhaps a rise
in hormones a dip in
pain levels and the swirling
tug of sore muscles.
It could be a lack of chocolate
A need for food, a rumbling
Or storage heaters,
an insomniacs personal
hell, not enough
A lack of stars
A lack of snow
A lack of moon…
the essence of hera, fear
unknown or the
endless realm of thoughts…

Everything so silent
Everything so distant
Everything so dark
Everything so…

Karen Hayward ©2017

Blood laced razor blades.

The true facts about menstruation:

PMS….pre fuck you! The weeks running up to the event. Your body realising there were no winners in the sperm race decide to celebrate with an influx of hormones. 

Then boom out of nowhere the drummer boy pulls out his razor blades and plays a melody of death upon your ovaries….and the world just keeps on fucking turning as my insides are fucking burning…

And then there’s the blood, a murder scene of mass proportion…I should probably stop writing now if I want anyone to read my stuff again 🙂

Karen Hayward ©2016

Festering soul in the scorching heat.



Tear away shreds of my sanity,

discard of them in the wasteland of opportunity.

Scavengers rummaging for the lost.

The hopeless wandering the night,

hapless souls void of light.

Darkness swarming at their ankles,

skinless fingers grabbing,

pulling them down

into the flaming pits.

Tear apart my spirit and spit it

out upon the dirt road of redemption

where it can fester in the warmth

of my guts. Congealed blood gluing

together the remains of any super hero

style sanity. Leave it to bubble, half boiling

beneath the summer rays as that

flaming ball scorches the last remains

of my soul.


Karen Hayward ©2016 (words)

Image is not mine it can be found on pinterest 🙂