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Month: February, 2017

The point of existence. 

Is there a point of existence beyond the silent implosion of menstruation? Alas, some scars will never heal as the drummer boy sharpens his blades in anticipation. Between the sniffles and sneezes I bleed for my right to be female, sipping on pain…I try not to swallow and now I am growling in hunger, to which, our boy with his blades is drumming louder….And I am left crumpled pondering the point of existence beyond the common cold and the crimson flow, defeated I shall let the pain consume me Between the throbs of nature strumming in my head.

KH©2017

The swarming venture of a thousand wasps.

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In the whispered hush of frozen thoughts

where darkness reigned, indifference

swarmed, he took it all he stripped me bare,

transparent value worthless flair.

Spiraled path, twisting fate, storming

skies a tasteful hate in the hush of frozen

thoughts, where darkness fought and

indifference swarmed.

KH © 2017

Crimson flow of death of life.

ladyarmor

Upon my knees

I plead for the

crimson

flow

of

death,

of life,

release me off

this torment that

flames within each cell,

each atom of myself,

the damning condemnation

of anatomy versus the spirits.

Will I resurrect on combustion?

On eruption will I realign into a calm

and ebbing ocean of delight, sprinkled in

heavens gold dust…will I hell! The scorn of

the blood moon seeps into the fibers of existence.

Perhaps in fighting the urge I am defying my nature,

the flames of resistance tear at my skin as the burned embers

of heavens feathers scatter across skies of doom.

Must I forever resist this bite? An internal

craving to become the beast,

to embrace the fallen

angel to scream

from

somewhere

deep within my soul…

Upon my knees I plead for the

crimson flow of

death of life,

release me from this torment.

Karen Hayward ©2017

Image found on pinterest

 

 

The devil in his guises

oooh in the darkness of

oblivion I am becoming

the essence of fuck you life,

I beg the devils soldiers

to wipe away the stresses

of this shitty old strife.

I plead with my muses

give me the anger to

write because the devil in

his guises is always right.

KH ©2017

Tearing at edges of my sanity.

banshee

You’ve torn at the edges of my sanity

ripped holes in the depths of my conscience,

uttered words of spite filled hate over and over,

swung like the pendulum of doom

because the end it looms so soon.

You’ve cornered me in darkness

swatted at my light, killed my smile

and taken hostage my life. My spirit has

taken refuge in the pits of oblivion,

all because the end, it looms so very soon.

You’ve stole the blue from my eyes,

the laugh from my voice, the sparkle in my

step and the silence in my death, your

hatred draped in perfect festoon, all because

the end it looms so very soon. You killed this

flower that once did bloom, all because, you

couldn’t see the moon.

KH ©2017

Image found on pinterest