This isn't poetry anymore, but a burnt up message in a bottle.
The Actress With Amnesia.
'I used to think of myself as a morning person.' She thought, looking up from the mattress on the floor. The early morning daybreak had already begun to cut through the window above. 'It didn't matter what happened the day before, what mood I was in when I fell asleep. I would always wake up feeling like today was another chance.' Frail bones cracked into place as she rose from her bed, picking up the shirt discarded in her sleep. Taking a moment to glance over, she thought maybe it was the beds fault. Not the fact that it was old, or lumpy or even cold at times. Something else. 'The romantic in me says I just hate sleeping alone, but it might just be the fact I've lost my security blanket.' With a few tugs, the over sized t-shirt fell into place.
Opening the door into the hall where the sun shown in uninhibited, ash blue eyes winced as they tried to adjust. Morning was always a deafening silence in this house, a silence even now she didn't seem to mind. 'Only now, it's become evident that every quiet moment is nothing but a gap for my mind to fill with thoughts unproductive.' Letting out a light yawn, she flicked the switch of the kettle. 'Even things like pulling out a particular cup from the cabinet trigger short silent films in my head.' Setting the fragile, painted tea cup on the counter she did her best to not let her mind drift and made her way from the kitchen down the hall.
Chipped nails glanced the wooden railing before turning the corner into the bathroom - cold tile waking her up even more. Taking a deep breath, tired eyes rose from the faucet to the reflection in the mirror. Bringing both hands up to rub away yesterdays makeup, she attempted to bury feelings of self loathing deep in her gut. 'Sometimes I feel like I have a split personality and it's an endless battle for who's gonna come out on top, and worst of all they don't get along. One day, I'll wake up feeling timid, quiet and like I owe the world something for letting me still be here. Another day, I'm a force to be reckoned with, a dangerous combination of careless and selfish all wound up with a confidence conjured up from who the fuck knows.' Bringing her hands down to turn the faucet, she splashed a handful of cold water on her face. 'This disconnect with my personality, with my state of mind as a whole has me struggling more than I ever have in the past.' She watches the water drip down her jawline, past her neck and to her collarbones - any expression lacking in her features. 'And because I've lost touch with myself, I've grown fearful of those that know me best, afraid that they'll notice that right now, I'm playing a part...' Pulling the towel from it's hook, she patted her skin dry. The distant whistle of the kettle now boiling as she peered once again into the mirror.
'... and I've forgotten all my lines.'
For a moment; I'll let you in.
Hello my name is recipe for disaster,
I was raised on suicide and sarcastic laughter.
Just like everyone else, I've got more baggage
more luggage than I can afford to check.
My ancestors, they give me an excuse
for yelling a lot and drowning in booze.
No I won't blame my dad for the life I had,
or the lack of time he spent within it.
And it ain't my mom's fault
for being built with faults
that were cracking decades before I was born.
Cuz yeah life hasn't been the best
but this pain in my chest
that you and I
we carry every day
It raises us right
teaches us to fight
made us feel we could handle the worst.
I'll pull this knife from my chest
toss it to the floor with all the rest.
And with all those metal scraps
I'll fashion armor unbreakable.