The fucked up tales of fairys.

Fuck the world in all its glory,
This ain’t no fairy tale story.
There’s no happy end,
Or love to send.
It’s a fantasy built upon bullshit words,
Sung in the tree tops by fucked up birds.
The light is for the weak,
The dark is what I seek,
Truth in the actions
Of the fucked up reactions.
This ain’t no fucking fairy tale,
Life isn’t pass or fail.
Show me a truth, i’ll show you a lie,
Everyone does it, no matter how hard they try.
A fantasy of words created in awe,
Like it’s some kinda fucked up law.

Pandoras box.

I got you out today,
For just a moment,
Not the entirety,
Just a bit.
I didn’t say
I check each day,
or that i wish there
Was a way,
I didn’t tell
Of the living hell,
Of knowing,
That i
am not
Or how tough
It is,
To know that
From a far,
A distant star.
Now i have
To put you back,
Hide you
In a
Broken crack,
Unseen from the world,
Unseen from this girl.

© Karen, A. Hayward

Behind the mask.

She has mousy hair,
That bleaches blonde
In the sun,
And deep blue eyes, that
Hides her lies.
Her skin is soft and white,
so white
and when the summer sun skips across it,
it leaves a rich red trail that burns her for only a couple of days.
She can love.
she knows how,
better than most,
she feels pain,
hurt that burns at her very soul.
She hides it,
so no one will know.
She is selfless,
a deep need inside of her, always, even when they are undeserving.
She can be fiercely loyal,
too loyal,
she is blinded by her choices, she doesn’t know,
Doesn’t trust her own voices when it’s time to let go.
she forgives from her heart, each time,
each crime,
She enjoys the silence of the early morning when the world still sleeps.
She likes,
whatever it is she likes in that moment,
a beat of a song,
a lyric of love,
a long forgotten word.
she has a spirit that dances to the silent waves,
the ebbing tide,
the rising sun,
the moon that hides.
She’ll carry the world upon her shoulders,
and not complain and never wane.
She laughs deeply from her soul,
smiles with love for eternity. Her hair is messy,
even when brushed,
thick and unruly one side kinks in a wavy curl,
the other lays straight.
Her skin is littered with freckles and scars that carry memories of loss and times when no one was there,
to show they care, of despair, of the moment when she knew, she meant nothing to you.
they’re memories of tears that fell with ease as they rampaged through her broken body,
and her body is so very broken.
She doesn’t trust with ease, she see’s
Between the lines,
So plays her cards,
to stay ahead of the game,
it helps her to stay sane.
She hides behind a mask,
And is always,
Whenever asked.