Hazy

Sometimes I have to change my words into a whisper to be able to say things right.
As if the pitch of my voice could be proportional in any way to effect of their meaning.
Like an earthquake trembling from my soul to yours.

So I let the words just slowly brush my lips
And my hands, they hardly touch your fragile surface
And I'm afraid to even stare into your eyes; even the thought of it makes my heart turn to stone

So I just watch you through black eye lashes
Through salty rivers
Through a house of cards only a touch of wind could shatter.

And you know.
You always knew.
What wild winds exist in me.
A cold winter has awaken and nothing but its own fierceness can stop it from unleashing its countless dead and frozen limbs.

Don't let the intensity of myself embrace you.
Make my fury elude you.
You know there is fervor and depth in my love that could crush the world.

Let me be tired and obscured.
Because keeping me hazy will keep us alive.

I have loved you and even worse.

I just have one question before you go away and end up being just another name, just another game, just another reason to fake getting drunk on Saturday evenings.

Was it worth it?
To work so hard
to make me love you
to make me believe you were there
forever
was it worth it to make me lose my head
for the last time?
because I swear
it was the fucking last time
you can go to hell
burn and die in it
for all I care
yes, I am angry
I want to hurt you
I want to see you suffer
I want to make you bleed
rivers
till you get
to reach me
on this deserted island
so that I can get to kill you
one last time
before you go to hell
for your silly sins
and I go whisper sweet punishments in Satan's ear,
as you were hoping,
as you always saw me.
your nemesis
your favorite sinner
your most beloved enemy
fuck you
go to hell
die
and never call my name.

And so I woke up, all sweat and tears. Just to find the blood on my sheets. And you closer to me than ever.

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.