Too fucked up to care;
too far gone to share,
too many layers to bare,
and they say life is fair.
Copyright Karen Hayward 2015.
A room full of faces with stories too tell,
children that crash, children that yell.
Some of them tired, some of them beat,
there’s coffee to sip and cake to eat.
Each story the same, each child so different,
battling parents, ready to implement.
A moment each month to stop and share,
surrounded by people that actually care.
The sun is too hot, the sky is too blue,
finally people that know this is true.
In a world full of face’s where nobody see’s,
I sit in a room, and finally feel free.
It’s almost late and as I
sit on the corner of the page that will take me into a new chapter of my life,
I wonder if I will sleep.
Will the golden edged moon drop her dust sparingly across my naked bust as I close my eyes and dream of things that are beyond reality.
Or will she offer light into my darkened mind for me to explore my deepest thoughts.
It’s late, it’s almost late,
and the sandman waits patiently at the dream lands gate.
Have you ever thought that perhaps the internet does not exist?
Perhaps we are actually sitting row after row in a room without walls, tapping away on a sheet of paper, letters crudely scribbled in blood across the white sheet, staring at a blank wall. Laughing, crying, masturbating as doctors walk past, clipboard in hand taking notes. A fantasy to escape reality, that becomes reality and then, fantasy.