Needy poem

I used to be the band-aid that covered your wounds.

that ignored your issues and smiled to you despite them.

that listened to your problems and then tell you it's all going to be fine.

that carried your load when you couldn't.

I used to be your hideaway, that's what you called me.

your perfect friend that would never let you down.

your clown on a rainy day.

your secret passion.

I used to be used.

like a medicine.

like a drug.

like a second soul that took in all the grief, and pain and suffering for you.

I used to think it's okay.

Go on, light me up again, pour me into your veins.

Hide with me, color me in shades of night and don't ever let anybody ever find me.

Let me stop your bleeding and turn your wounds into scars and your scars into memories that fade. 

Memories that fade.

Like I do.

Close your eyes. I never existed.

I never deserved to exist.

Some drugs don't deserve to be illegal.

Some hideaways don't deserve to be secluded.

And I'm pretty sure, even though I don't exist,

that not all band-aids deserve to be ripped.

Just another peaceful day

The sheets were clinging to my skin when the alarm started ringing. With lazy movements, I got myself to the bathtub and just let the cold water hit me with its sweet biting sensation. The air was hard, dense and filled with a soft vanilla perfume. It soon started raining violently and the smell of leaves invaded the little dark room where I stood looking at the white curtains while I was preparing coffee.
It's just another peaceful day.
Just lingering in sweet laziness with my tousled hair falling in waves over my shoulders and back, still waiting to be disentangled by some unknown fingers and caressed by unknown eyes.
It's wonderful how empty the house feels. I can almost touch the echo of your past steps in my embrace with solitude. But a silence sweet and dense as honey makes the temptation pass; a summer rain inside of me as unstable as the one at my window.
It's just another passing feeling of equilibrium that comes and goes, like my entire existence is hanging to the same fast moving pendulum; only that now it has started loosing momentum and I can feel a strange power in me, the kind that makes me reach out my hands and grab whatever they can grasp.
So that I can let go again to a moment when unknown hands can catch me.