Graphite 

She was graphite, rough and raw.
She’d erase rough lines of guidance,
use the indents as a reminder of where not to walk,
how not to cry,
when not to break.
She’ll sit up into the wee twilight
Hours curving letters across
nipples pert bud,
gently caressing sensuality,
as the sharpened pencil defines
contours of need,
black lines of repression smeared by charcoal nips and probing tips.
Blurred definitions
tainted revelations
deceitful realisations
Graphite creations… how she pondered
now the way we draw our lines
in pencil, temporary markings
leaving a gentle trail
of destruction across
naked bodies beneath Lunar glows
Wild oats, taken, made and sown
Pick ups and throws…
The allure of graphite, need
erased, redrawn… Redrawn.

Karen Hayward ©2017

Image and words 

Redundant frequency.

image

I sometimes ponder the redundancy of words, second hand letters used again and again to describe the minds responsive state. Is any word sacred? On my death bed with my dying breath will I whisper for the first time the totality of my love on a sacred word that you will treasure as you would the lingering touch of my lips against yours? How many times have we whispered love into other lost souls? These are the foundations of our past. We use them as stepping stones into our future, recycling the feel of them beneath our fingers. A monochrome TV set fixed on repeat with the remote long gone. Are we destined to forever read from the same script, to forever act out the same scene, repeating our well rehearsed lines, over and over.

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)