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Frisk Jun 2016
once you learn the self-efficient art of
losing yourself to denial, the lenses are
blacked out - replaced by a similar world
to the world before - but easier to stand in.
i've gotten denial down to a science. smoke
and mirrors became something i'm smart
at doing: reflecting, refracting, d i m m i n g
the lights. where is the plan b of denial at?

there is nothing to stand behind. i have
nothing to offer and nothing to give.

i'm losing my obscurity because i'm letting
my walls down around you. what does it
mean to play by the rules when i bend them?

- kra
Frisk May 2016
i think about all the insurmountable times i have
watched myself shave off the bark of my skin
to watch others thrive and blossom violently like
wildflowers and chrysanthemums. i think of how
you have always been a tree – tall, mighty, powerful
- with roots that don't seem to make mine feel like
weeds. teach me, for i aspire to be luminous, tree.
i dream of worlds made of jasmine and honeysuckle,
of utopias devoid of the bark i've shaved off my back.
i dream of sap that feels a little less like magma and
a lot more like maple syrup. i dream of roots that
doesn't feel like granite and completely calcified.
teach me, for i aspire to be luminous, tree.
Frisk May 2016
5/18/16
14 days -
"empty love" is a boarded up home flooded in
and drowned out taking all of the things that
makes a home a sanctuary. it wilted the rose
petals, it left the house barren and heavy.

5/19/16
13 days -*
i'm as sober as i've ever been, but the
line still is blurred for me. my toes are
pushing the limits, touching the line,
daunting, taunting, flaunting, *wanting
.

5/20/16
12 days -
what terrifies me is that you don't make
me feel like all the lights inside of me are
turned off. something in me comes to life.
it's the whiskey burning my throat, it's the
burning in my heart that collapses the days.

5/21/16
11 days -
something is ripping apart inside of myself,
it is the collapse of everything i've ever built
carefully placed up a house of cards only to
watch myself fall. i am not a good person.

5/22/16
10 days -
i hear the police sirens every time i catch a glimpse
of the white light of euphoria. it is actually the
lights of the oncoming train. it is death.

5/23/16
9 days -
human hands are always covered with bloodshed,
from hearts they've ripped and torn. we don't see
it because it's washed down the drain in the morning.

5/24/16
8 days -
sixty days since we talked. at seventy one days, we
will finally meet for the first time. you will see my
skeletons, the secrets hidden in my ribcage. i love
you so much that it lights my veins on fire.

5/25/16
7 days -
we are large demons hiding inside tiny bodies.
this rib cage is much too small to hide all of my
secrets. all of my deceit lies here rotting, growing
until the stench of curiosity becomes unbearable.

5/26/16
6 days -
this dense ache is becoming so heavy, but i would
still chase the sun even though all i can do is feel
her shine through parts of me every night.

5/27/16
5 days -
on the fifth day in our favorite game, a severe storm
happened. today, a severe storm happened. this is
only the beginning of the storm on north carolina.

5/28/16
4 days -
dare i say i will let you pull the switch and
drop the guillotine, because i trust you that
much more with letting me die. frankly, i
have no intention to continue to live.

5/29/16
3 days -
this might be the occasion that my lust will
burn at it's peak. somehow, i am trying to
find ways of smothering that smoke signal
that many people can't see from miles away.

5/30/16
2 days -
where the light is at, that's where i've always
pictured you. where the darkness exists, i'm
neck deep but still trying to swim towards
that light. everything seems to shrink lately.

5/31/16
1 day -
there is floundering in floral and foreplay, and
a beautiful disaster in the eyes of shakespeare
and hamlet, we are two created equals with
the idea that burning will keep us both safe.

6/1/16
0 days -
these thorns are tearing through my skin,
emptying out every single secret hidden
in my bloodstream. hopefully, none of
those secrets have your name on it.

- kra
Frisk Apr 2016
our favorite game starts with the introduction
of an hurricane. usually storms are depicted in
dreams as sinewy turbulence swelling up, a rough
beginning, and the ending result of the story is
where something is lost. the storm takes something.
mother nature will not give mercy to the kindest
of us humans.

the safety point is a lighthouse, that promise
of light at the end of the tunnel. i have always
stuck to the shadows instead of reaching out
towards the light, stuck with the desire and
fear of change, but you shot out like a startled
deer. you – of all people – bring color to the
chiaroscuro painted world. i – of all people –
stir up storms in people and seem to leave
behind only wreckage and skeletons. there
is a light shining through you which careens
through my skin instead of ricocheting off
of me.

our wavelengths mimic each other some days,
but i have a storm roaring through my skin that
i’m afraid to let anyone get a glimpse at. if
my exoskeleton ever was torn down by anyone,
the storm would remember to bury me in the
remaining rubble and shrapnel left behind.

mother nature will not scare me anymore,
and i will start at ground zero and build
myself upwards towards cloud nine and
beyond. something is lost, but there is
always something gained from loss.

- kra
Frisk Mar 2016
things have become sentient, lively, breathing
lately - blossoming violently like wildflowers
and chrysanthemums - suppressing the never
ending void sitting in my stomach. things like
anxiety haven't disappeared - like the green of
jealousy - like the green of sickness that i get
when my best-friend complex comes into play.
i have been having trouble developing myself
into a home. instead, i've been lighting forest
fires watching these trees transfer over into
death. i have been dependent on lighthouses
to guide me to safety. there are people i ask
for to guide me home, but they're in the line
of fire. it's between one important body or
thousands of bodies. i have not been able
to grow enough to avoid choosing mind
over matter. things have become harder,
suffocating, and more complex lately, but
i'm finally whole. for the first time in my
life, i'm a butterfly. of course, this always
comes with a price - with chained feet.

- kra
Frisk Feb 2016
“you can't go home,” said thomas wolfe, “back home to the
old forms and systems of things which once seemed ever
lasting but which are changing all the time.” but...here i am.
i've shattered that idea like expensive broken china, like the
mirrors i shattered within the 72 hours of being back here in
texas, the state of volatile weather patterns and skeletons i've
hid in the toybox in the attic upstairs. he said, “i can't go back
home to my childhood.” thomas, i have retained memories
like these and kept them hidden in the jewelry box along
with the lock of my hair i cut with scissors purposely when
i was seven ******* in a bow. i've uncovered artifacts from
my past, refuting your statement. thomas said, “i cannot go
back home to aestheticism.” as he believes the small-town
image i exist within will shapeshift at will and without
hesitation. another thing, he mentioned, “i cannot go back
home to one's youthful idea of 'the artist' and the all-sufficiency
of 'art' and 'beauty' and 'love'.” landmarks still stand out to me.
the bridge connecting both parks nearby my house overlooking
a large lake at the peak of the golden hour is sufficient enough
for art. it is sufficient enough to be considered something of
beauty, that needs to be captured. it is sufficient enough to
remember i've loved and lost so many things on this bridge.
thomas said, “i cannot go back home to the father you have
lost and have been looking for.” but thomas, i have recently
faced my dad with red glazed-over eyes, and he has always
been looking out for me. he has always shone a beacon
towards me, yet i've been so terrified of following the lights
in fear of losing my shadows. you told me, “i cannot go back
home to someone who can help you, save you, ease the burden
for you.” all i have been doing is surrounding myself with
people who can help me, save me, and ease my burdens.
and i can't help but notice gaps in these moments when
you say, “you're back home to the escapes of time and
memory, but katelyn, remember, the old forms and systems
of things which once seemed everlasting are rapidly changing
all the time.” and i notice the large gaps like amnesia blackouts.
sorrow can handle long distance relationships, but i can not.
Frisk Feb 2016
i'm starting to believe in the theory that i'm
a ghost. now i've become desensitized to my
footsteps aside from being drunk, and who
knows if i'm making all of those sounds up?
it's all starting to sound like harsh noise.

people have started to be scared of getting
close to me, because they've felt how cold
the air around me is. i've practiced covering
for my demons, but now it's getting rough.

i'm starting to lose sight of why i'm here
because people are losing sight of me. i
am a chameleon. i disappear, and no sane
person wants to look for the lost ghost.

the people who do not see through me paint
smiles on their faces, and pretend i am not an
open casket funeral. my cries for help become
blurred by the river of denial they drown in.
the longer you keep your eyes open under
water, the more it burns. the longer you wait
for the buzzards, the more likely they'll come.

the longer i wait to bury the skeletons under
my bed and in my closets, the higher they'll
stack. i need to erase all of those skeletons.

i need to begin erasing myself.

- kra
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