Who stole all the sand…

Sleep has become the bane of my existence,
friend and foe in toxic measures
caressing me in captive resistance
depriving me of sleeps pleasures.
Sleep has become a lost source of mind
swinging me in kinetic fusion
held hostage in the recess of moments I find
relief is becoming just an allusion.
Sleep is becoming a far of dream
even the lucid variant is missing
and the sandman never hears my wishing.
Sleep has become the bane of my existence,
drowning in the moments so insistent.

Karen Hayward ©2018
Image and words

Photo

Oh my goodness you are a…

Oh my goodness you are a slut 

The gods laugh as they watch you strut. 

Prostitution is the oldest trade…

You know, at least, that’s what they say. 

Your heart so black your soul so mottled

I wonder does that posion come in a bottle?

Clever little pen 

clever little pen 

stroke it baby for you have a friend!

Lonesome fear spoilt brat

You’re the remnants that the devil spat.

Karen Hayward ©2016

Restrictive looms.

Restriction of blood flow

a torrent of thoughts

with no place to go.

Limitations of reality

a soul destroying fatality.

Confinement. Confine me

within your walls of conformity

your abnormalities

displayed in crimson

blood against the walls

of society.

I am circumscribed by your delusional

realities

the inbred specialities

of commercialised

nationality.

Karen Hayward ©2015.

 

 

 

I’m starting to see.

Am starting to wonder

how life did plunder

the shine in my eyes

when I look to the sky.

I’m starting to think

it all changed in a blink

I lost sight of myself

it’s so bloody stealth.

I’m starting to see

I wasn’t set free.

I was shackled to life

head filled with strife.

I’m starting to know,

this isn’t my show,

I know what I need

you and your seed!

Oh i need to let go

rewrite our show

give it back the flow

both fast and slow!

 

Karen Hayward © 2015