Stop the endless search for purity

If only they would stop searching the endless paths of

hopeless fools that dominate the green green grass

of earth. If they could just stop looking to appease the

lost souls of the blind clones and their followers, they

could be free. They could strip away the insecurities

of an unstable society and walk the balance beam of chaos,

one foot in front of the other as their soul flies on ahead

to clear the way. If for a moment they could shake away

their prudish thoughts, let passion enter their minds, brush

away the dirt of a gentleman’s rule, they could know ecstasy.

The creeping wave that floods through the perfectly tuned body;

inhibitions left at the door, clothes strewn across the floor,

desire in the fingertips of fire, passion no longer

denied as the flames burn inside.

If only they could walk this path, leave behind the sins of

the clueless few who fear the strong. So much fear for the other side,

for those that walk bare skinned without sin beneath a veil

of devilish fun with tantalizing tales of lust, stories of trust

and moments in time of naked bodies never meant to

be mine. Alas, the path is their choosing all mottled in grey

always concerned for the place where they lay.

Karen Hayward ©2015

Is Lust really, really, really such a sin?

Is lust truly a sin?
Forget for a moment
the pleasure it brings
Is lust truly the sin?

Two bodies lay
in consent
Deep in throws of
passion sent

Yet, we teach our girls
her body is sin,
and boys we teach
girls are just a thing.

In needs essence
and lusts demand
Abandoned fears
at lovers command

Girls we teach
vanilla sex,
Boys taught shame
In sex Ed.

A mutual taste
swarms and curves
chemicals released
Intimacy learned.

Girls we teach
are a vessel for boys,
Their skin, hips, boobs
and body’s a toy.

And bonded in
shared escape
two souls form
In respect not hate.

Girls we teach, save
yourself for the
special him,
Boys told sow
that seed and the
kids it brings.

Lust is a primal
calling, perfect
when truth is
unfolding, forming.

We teach our girls
mechanical sex,
robotic emotions
on shames
commotions

Lust is beauty
a believe in the
spirit, the skin
and desire within.

We teach our boys
to screw the body
and forget the
soul… Insanity.

The tickled edges
of self, caressed
empowered
and embraced

Yet,
we teach our kids
that lust is
Shame… Like their bodies
infedelity… Like the truths
we teach daily
The devils sin… from the
mouths of the fallen.
Weakness… From those
who fear their very souls.

So I ask again is lust the sin,
or the united ‘we’ society sings?

Karen Hayward ©2018

Let me love you as…

Let me love you the only way I know how,
With one foot among the flames of hell.
My halo hanging from the door as Satan                                                                                bangs down upon the floor.

Let me cherish your being the only way I’ve sought,
In whispered tones of unsaid thoughts.
In the endless space of empty words,
And the blank spaces that go unheard.

Let me adore the softness of your inner soul,
With shy blushes and a rising tide of a love I know.
With gentle thoughts and the slightest touch,
As the devil screams this is all too much.

Let me desire the very all of your being,
In broken sleep and heated dreaming
As need escapes, transforms the room,
and I beg and plead, take me soon.

Let me relish in our touch the only way I could,
With devil kisses in those places I never should.
In a trail of unforgiven memories across your skin,
Tainted now by our enchanted sin.

Let me devote myself to your spirit, with empty vows of love,
And let us hope this alone is enough.
My succubus soul and hearted sleeve,
And let these be the mortal sins of life we weave.

Karen Hayward ©2016.

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If life were at my mercy a gun about her head. . .

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If life were at my mercy with a gun about her head,
I’d ask she bring you to myself, to lay upon the bed.
Safety off I’d tell her so, that you are mine to have,
And life would know right there and then, she’s at the mercy of my wrath.
And for my mercy she would plead
whilst begging I tell her of my needs.
I would say, in a gentle whisper,
His touch upon my skin to linger.
The gracious feel of his wandering tongue,
and the pleasurable feel of his caressing thumb.
And life, with a gun about her head,
would say, ‘You want him here inside your bed?
To feel the devils touch of sin
lingering on your precious skin?’.
And I would smile and pity her,
and ponder who she once were.
Yes. I want his touch upon my skin,
Yes. I want the devil’s sin.
Oh life, surely even you can see,
what his touch could do to me.
And for a moment, gun about her head, she smiles,
then opens up my battered old file…
Sorry dearest, she does say,
Ive checked it out against his name…
and you have nothing past today,
for it seems your futures are still…being made.
So, I look her in her eyes and shoot her in the head,
then call out to the devil as she whimpers whilst she bled,
and the devil comes a crawling,
for he’s heard all that I have said,
he smiles, winks and says,
‘let’s get him in your bed’!

Karen Hayward ©2016

Image found on Pinterest

I breathe in silent wisps.

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Would you? Momentarily
pull me in close, stem
the void of noise, imbue upon
me the soft silence of
sanctuary. Validation,
such an annoyance of
need, desired yet stubborn
denial, fierce, yet. . .
vivid rainbow of chaos
hides pale technicolor
aura. I am gentle as
much fierce, soft as
much hard, pure as much
erotic. Paused breath
I breathe in silent wisps
reading the world through
silent eyes. Would you?
Hold me as the Sun ascends,
descends, glittered trails
of desire lost in woken’s
wake, I hear now the
ebbing flow of life’s
ethereal lake, and some days,
some days I am the lioness,
the wolf, the flames of Hells
fire and the essence of
desire that burns
within me. But other days
I am merely the falling
petals of the tuberose
delicate, fragrant,
pure, essence lost without
protection from the
elements.

Karen Hayward (c)2017
Image and words.

Sip greedily on my crimson blood, drain me of mortality.

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Teeth grazing on pale skin
the soft vibration of life’s beat,
faint, needy, weak.
Drink my dear.
Pierce my
throat as you have
penetrated
my heart.
Sip greedily on my crimson
blood, drain me of mortality.
Taste the essence of my desire
upon your lips as my passion
coats your tongue, my
weakness trickles down
your throat.
I give myself to you,
neck bare,
I offer my eternal slavery,
my life force, the very beats of
my feeble heart.
Drink from me.
Sustain your soul on my
essence.
Piercing screams of release,
devour me,
take all,
shackle me to your existence,
bind me to your will,
fill me with your seed of life,
spilling between lips.
Upon knees, Master,
let me drink
from your source,
nourish me in the blood
of your need, make of me
your eternal servant.
Master, make me yours,
feed to me the essence of your immortality,
drink my scarlet blood,
smeared upon your lips,
kiss me,
Lustrous Master, kiss me.

Karen Hayward (c)2017
Image and words

Doors open…


A million faces, voices without traces. 

Lives occupied by tube, regressed oppression

Realities lube. Doors open, doors close. 

Clicking heels shuffling trainers, skirts 

Too short, frown too long. Death clinging

In the air to skin, to hair. Lungs filling 

With someone elses dead skin. Everyone

Fantasising about anothers sin. 

Everyone fantasising about anothers sin. 
Karen Hayward ©2016 (image and words)