So little control…

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So little control we have in this world.
I cannot control the weather,
when it rains, it pours, people
get wet and puddles form.
But I can choose to turn my head
to the skies and dance in those puddles.
I cannot control time.
It slips by in a beat of my mind,
grains falling, lost,
forgotten moments
as age creeps upon me.
But I can chase moments, savior time
and live within the seconds.
I cannot control the vicious spite
of a broken soul wallowing in the
Black ink of a victims role, chip
firmly etched upon their shoulder.
No, so little control we have in this
world, the broken will hunt,
kill and gather, and for what? For even this
broken world can see through the
Vicious veil.
I cannot control the actions of another…
I have control only of myself and I can decide to end the cycle.
Hate doesn’t have to breed hate…
And this does not make one weak,
for only the strong stand against societies sheep.

Karen Hayward ©2017

Image and words

Peel open your broken eyes. 

I pity the puppeteer playing a lonesome game

pulling, tugging, delving into shame. The narcissist 

has a dictionary, armed and ready to use. 

They can pull you into a world of wonder, 

splendour pouring from their fingers

working you like the puppet that you are. 

And when you tire of the game 

when your arms hurt from the constant 

worship and your words run dry they will cry. 

Cry. Cry. Cry.

Cry words of loss and abandonment to fill 

your soul with the murky stench of guilt.

They will cry. 

And the puppeteer in gleeful splendour 

shall once again control the strings 

whilst you believe it’s love they sing…

But alas my pitisome broken dear, 

The narcicists controls your fear

They cannot lose, they must keep you near. 
Karen Hayward ©2017

Be my darkened Prince. 

Quite my mind stop the constant. 

Relax my body hold me still, 

darken my world blindfold my eyes. 

Bind my hands…and tease me. 

Let your words wash across me 

swarming to the essence of my core. 

Let your touch lead me to the edge of extasy. 

Command me with your tongue, 

caress me with your lips. 

Explore me with your body

 control my roaming hips. 

Lead me to the darkness be my darkened Prince,

Give me pleasure so I may sigh, and pain so I may wince. 
Karen Hayward ©2016

Can I?

Can I bind your hands, bind them to the post, grab a pen knife and make the very most. Another tiny notch upon my bedpost. Can I bind your ankles take you how I want, write about it here in any fucked up font. Can I take your soul collect it in a jar, you’ll spend a lifetime wishing for it back on the empty dying stars. But that’s okay, come on baby let’s play. Can I have your body, touch upon your skin, can I tempt your spirit to some dirty fucking sins. Can I sit upon, oh we both know that it is wrong, but can I take your seed and leave your essence on the floor, then leave you playing there as I walk out the door?

Karen Hayward ©2016

Such sadness.

Oh baby, such sadness in your face,
I know my sweet, it’s such an utter disgrace,
how dare I ask you help clean this place
and there was you thinking you were winning the race.
It is so terribly sad
I know,
I can see you’re mad.
I am such a meany,
I am so fucking bad.
Don’t I know, I’m meant to stay down,
turn my smile into a frown
and forget all about adverbs and nouns.
Oh baby, such sadness in your eyes,
I know, I know, I know how hard you try,
to block the view of that glorious sky.
Such beautiful efforts you work real hard,
don’t I know my cage is barred.
Oh baby, such sadness in your soul,
but you can’t keep me down, don’t you know,
I’m more than any of your self imposed roles.

Karen Hayward ©2016