Angry skies of Satan

#acrostic *#poetslineprompts*

Angry cries from Satan’s soldiers
Negotiating the flames of hell
Grueling screams of deaths call
Redemption, a forgotten whisper
Yonder sinful haze of a broken soul.

Skies where once were blue
Killing innocence in crimson
Iridescent drops of life
Eye of sin, perpetual strife
Sinister the angry skies.

Karen Hayward ©2017 Image and wordsimg_20161110_142542.jpg

Cover them in Satan’s cream.

Once upon a day gone by beneath a deafening
thunderous sky. I waged a war on life
itself, gave my all with love and grace and
then just simply let it fall. I walked on sullen tippy toes
followed life’s incessant flow. Stopped for neither man nor beast
upon this life i’d lovingly feast. Once upon a day far gone
I danced to another song, with hidden lyrics and a tasty beat
constantly moving my naked feet.
I devoured hearts and stole away dreams
covered them in Satan’s cream. I never looked back,
never questioned my track, never cared for the consequences
my fear to attach was relentless.
Once upon a night long gone I sold my soul in the devils song.
I’ve since begged and pleaded to have it back
he only laughs and says ‘you’ll have only a crack.
You’ll see out, but they’ll not look back.’

Karen Hayward ©2017
Image and wordsimg_20160419_221320.jpg

Burn the embers

Burn the embers of my broken

soul on hot coal

beneath the devil’s spit.

Let me burn. 

I am without salvation, 

I yearn for deprivation. 

I yearn for Satan’s cave

Flaming pits and burning wings.  

Burn the embers of my 

Essence disperse them 

In winters winds in freezing 

Snows, burn the embers 

Of this broken soul. 
Karen Hayward © 2017

Incubus, succubus the devil’s calling me.


I wonder are you the incubus
sent to deliver me into hell,
Or is it I that is the succubus,
am I the angel that fell.
I wonder who leads who to the gates of the abyss,
and will our shining lights be enough,
that the depths of despair we will miss.
I wonder do the angels deliver me these signs,
everywhere I look,
you are centred in my mind or is Satan working overtime.
I wonder am I the succubus that leads your soul astray,
or perhaps you are the incubus,
and I am simply your prey.

Karen Hayward ©2016
Image is not my own and can be found on Pinterest.

Thee cloister of the damned.

Picture prompt can be found here

Lost somewhere in my darkest memories these doors

are made of ageing oak and the muted black of wormwood

edged with working iron bolts. Hanging, precariously from the left

gargoyle knocker,

a sheet of aged iron engraved by a diamond point, declares

‘This path is for the worthy few‘.

I know the notice well

I have been told it time and time again.

Among the devil’s soldiers

my spot is reserved by the blood of my sins

and the essence of those who have sinned with me.

Whispers of disdain circle my feet,

snaking round my ankles.

 Blind eyes blink away disgrace

binding my wrists with barbed wire vines.

I am shackled within my rightful place

surrounded by dying souls that reach in and remove my heart

replacing it with a lump of blackest coal.

We are the cloistered nuns of the devil

our souls sold into Satan’s subservient slavery.

I feel the heavy shadow of concrete looming over me

the cloister of destruction caging us within

the walls of the damned.

Place coal under pressure and it will become a diamond,

a kaleidoscopic rainbow radiating light

into the darkest troves of my soul.

The spiteful vines of the blind cannot bind such light

as my shackles fall to the blood soaked ground.

I stand at those doors daily. Some days I turn the handle and peer

out into the light,

other days I remain within the cloister of the damned.

One day I will walk through

leaving them open as I go.

Karen Hayward ©2016

Glazed for just a moment.

Sometimes I must seek out an empty page with an unknown audience. A darkened corner where I can remove the mask and strip away the outer core of destruction. A place where I can tantalise the words as they spill covered in desire and need. Whisperless I can scream the secrets of my soul. I can say that I long for nothing but a single moment in the depths of Satan’s flaming pits I want to taste excitement as eyes glaze and fingers creep across my skin writing passion across my naked breasts and marking their territory, signing their name deep inside of me. I only want a moment.Just a moments touch.A moment to super impose  my image against your soul so that in every wonder you ever look at you will be haunted by my moans of pleasure, my naked form my eyes glazed with sexual tension..


Karen Hayward ©2016


Blood tinged forgotten fun with the glorious Beezlebub.

Spare me the history making class.

This is history in the palms of my hand.

Writing itself in the blood of my sins,

smeared across the empty page.

There’s no reason for the rose hue tint,

let’s not glorify the facts.

Let us speak with a double edged sharpness,

free ourselves from the grappling hands of a fucked up society.

Stop listening to the screams of the fallen.

Let them become the echoed stepping stone of reality.

Their sweat dirtied with the mud of indecision and regret.

Guilt etched into every breath they take.

The stench rising from their mangled bodies.

Breathe in death,

let the those floaters become you,

swimming in your lungs as your heart pumps.

Death, life, death, life.

The constant beating of fear.

Close your eyes feel that darkness.

Know in your soul that Satan too is an angel of God,

carrying out the work of him almighty.

So I sin in the name of the Devil

as he drags me down into the depths of hell

glaring deep into my soul,

he searches but cannot find,

for I am broken, but I am found.

The only blood upon my skin is self made luminous sin,

tainted in the beholders eye .

Let’s not dirty with the sweat and tears of a foxes tongue

the beauty of our blood tinged forgotten fun.


Karen Hayward ©2016