Gone are the gentle days

Where once I heard the trickling
of liberation on summers evening
breeze as laughter danced between
the bubbles of sanity… Insanity.
Now I hear only a hollow glug
that creeps across my skin on
the knife edge of smashed shells
as you pour another and another
refilling your glass of despair.

Karen Hayward ©2017

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To Whom does 5am Belong…

Has never been certain
if 5am belongs to the night
and his shadows.
A tinker, fixing the broken fragments
of my mind that shatter
on impact of thought…

… Or if it belongs
to peace of mind on morning
song bird, a symphony
of love before reality
takes another bite.

I wonder does it even matter
A moment between the worlds
the sun is yet to rise
so I sit talking to grey
melancholy skies…

Karen Hayward ©2018

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Melancholy on my mind.

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When the blue hue of melancholy settles inside my mind,
when I sigh from somewhere deep inside my soul,
when the rain feels like I am being cleansed by my own falling tears,
I silently clean.
I sweep floors from the depth of thought,
bleach sides with the essence of my heart,
I organise pens into coloured piles
as I realign my scrambled mind.
And as I travel through
the dark abyss of avoidance I am forever
grateful that melancholy sits awkwardly in my soul.
For a life of cleaning is not for me.

Karen Hayward ©2016

Writing prompt, chaos.

Writing prompt chaos

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This write doubles up slightly with the prompt from a few days back ‘sacrifice’…it started out as the sacrifice prompt, but clearly also fit very well with chaos. The inspiration was that often as a writer the pieces that come easiest are on the back of a sacrifice, which got me thinking what would I lose if I switched off this aspect of my personality, what sacrifices would I be making to become a non writer.

There’s a flip switch inside my head, I can turn it on or turn it off. I can survive either way. I can decide any time that I want. All I have to do is flip, that, switch. I can choose sleep I can choose to while away my hours glued to the television screen as my brain cells become numb to the outside world. I can choose to not see. I can close down the part of my mind that see’s a technicolor strobe of enlightening hues in the final glimpse of a setting sun, I don’t have to see this. I can choose to not feel, a thing. I can wrap myself in metaphorical bubble wrap and block out the sensations of the world against my skin. I can stop tasting the world on the tip of my tongue as it tantalizes my taste buds, I can do bland, I like bland. I can stop listening, I don’t have to internalize the words, the thoughts, I can revert them back to a black font on a white background, they can once again be nothing. I can create a dam inside my mind and fill it with the excessively flowing vocabulary. They can spend their remaining days swimming in the lake of forgotten wishes and unknown thoughts. They’ll be safe there. I can drag along my old pink blankie and peach frilled pillow, close the iron gate and just flip that switch.I don’t have to live outside the cage, my wings are tired from the constant fluttering to reach the opening and my feet hurt from the constant tugging me back. I don’t need to fly, the sky is so very brightly coloured and the sun so very warm I am sure I would only dawdle through the skies if I could. I don’t have to be this way. I can self implode the chaos that swims through my veins and creates sparkles of love in every step I take, I can switch it back, revert it alongside the font, I can drain the saturation, become monochrome I can become the melancholy of rainy afternoons as heavens tears slide down glass window panes. I don’t have to be this way, I can flip that switch. I can embrace the multi layer grading of grey on grey whilst my soul shrivels resting in the eternal solitude of an iron cage. I can turn off the world, see nothing, feel nothing, be nothing. Write nothing. I just have to flip that switch.

 

Karen Hayward ©2016 (Image and words)