Faded

Some days it will feel like I've hit the wall.  Hit. Hit. Hit. I wonder if I can shimmy and  then splat. My skin started to burn, I wanted to scream the place down.

  My name is Katrine and I want this all to much.

Mark my arms with frustration, wish briefly for blood and then swirl the pen to make it look dizzy. I wonder if I'm screaming yet? My fingers slide over the keys typing out this sorry attempt at release. Feet tap away at a beat not completely mine.

Shall I slip my skin and step into the shell you offer me? Shall I break the chains and paint the cell with dreams? I wonder how you can be mad at me, even when I go to dream land. Or maybe I just miss read everything I tell myself.

 

I feel my lunges filling as I drown in the burn, the burn out, the disconnect. On the outside it could have been said there was no need to worry. Is that why I now feel the need to act out? I'm worried, I'm so worried about K lately.  

Another day to late to call Mccay and make an appointment, but an appointment to say what? We've done everything we can till DBT? I refuse to be chained to an hospital bed, I don't need that kind of wake up call and the price my soul pays is to high for me to try again. So I'd rant, and maybe something will click. Tomorrow, maybe - I'll start to try again tomorrow.

Then I start to wonder, if I had turned myself inside out, if I just found a way to push in the right direction, would this day have been better?  I'm sitting here frustrated that the keys aren't banging, the prose isn't clicking,  my blood isn't painting the picture of the demons dancing over my heart. 

I want to bath in snow, light my skin on fire and die over the last piece of cake. I want to head bang in a loud crowd till I'm mixed in with the lost and found, to bruised and blue to be K anymore. Sub in the over share, the devil may care, the lab from hell, all the kind reminders that I don't fit, I'm not the type, it's killing me.  Or it's keeping me alive.  

I want you|understood| to wrap me up, rock me till the fire soothes,  kiss away the blotchy mess and find away to have me dancing before dinner. 

Shall I be pretty? Could I be witty? Tie me to the end of your kite string and launch me to the moon. Maybe even love me anyway. I don't want to be a shell.

- K