The day I lost my dreams.

As raindrops fall washing away the hazy mist of my mind my energy swarms searching for the beauty that surrounds me and out of nowhere my heart is ripped out and torn to shreds as I am transported back there. Day after day butterfly needles drawing out my blood searching for a viable increase that never came. Angels that avoid your eyes for fear of catching a glimpse of a soul breaking, starched sheets and ceilings that have so much pain etched into them they have become a dulled dirty white. Guilt drenched prays and blood shot eyes as the drugs carried me away. The small print clause that I signed hoping it to be an unnecessary scribble instead became my saviour.

Those haunting panicked eyes as mine flickered open beneath the flourescent lights in a room packed with open wounds and broken hearts. I was there long after I should have gone and your relief showed as your shoulders dropped and your voice rose. You were just a fleeting pair of green eyes and a finger that tore across the wound as though it were a blade laced with vinegar and coated in salt.

The failure of the body to recognise the growth of inviable cells within an incorrect location, the body desperately trying to give life to a creation that is bound for death and willing to take hostages as it leaves this world.

I watched you flick through the file as you ‘updated’ me, perhaps on any other day, in any other room I would have seen it coming, but I didn’t and as you turned that picture toward me, I should have averted my eyes for now I have burned into my memory an image of every dream I lost that day in the perfect vivid detail of milky white and crimson red blood. Stripped bare and alone with only the guilt of a body that desperately wanted to give life whilst inadvertantly destroying hope I let the pieces of my soul fall into the depths of hell as your loveless eyes burned into me with their putrid hated.

Sat alone in the twilight hours I scrub failure from my skin and as those three bladed slits across my stomach healed failure became a scar that I would never be able to scrub away.

 

 

Davy Jones locker.

image

Each grain of sand a broken heart saved by Davy Jones to insulate his locker. The melancholic melody protected in the Seas of the fallen. Soldiers of the depths collecting pain as I collect the tiny shards of green glass beaten and worn down by pain until it is spat back ashore, smooth and frosted. I ponder as I search the tiny piece of glass, how much heart ache did it take before it reemerged as this tiny slice of beautiful perfection.

Karen Hayward ©2016

Pillows and chocolate.

If you are not a soft plump pillow doused in the soft scent of roses,

then please, begone.

If you are not a feathered duvet that gently hugs my body,

then please, retreat and leave me in peace.

If you are not a place upon which I may lay or sleep,

then please, take heed, turn upon your heel and walk away.

If you do not bring chocolate, an endless supply,

If you come without the iron rich necessities of life

then please, go, come again another day.

If you are not the warm hands pressed against my stomach,

if you are not the slow beating heart sent to distract,

if you are not the warmth radiating into me,

then please,

leave me to my silence.

 

Karen Hayward © 2016