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.
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