An old woman that I've only
Spoken to once or twice
Introduced me to and old man
She told him my name
And then said I was... unusual
She did not say it rudely
And I'm most defiantly positive that
She meant no harm to her opinion of me
But I can't help but wonder why?..
I don't understand
I've been called many things
And I consider myself many things
But unusual..?
Being called that almost sounds foreign to me
I just simply don't understand why I'd be called that?
Maybe I don't know myself as much as I thought...
Or maybe I'm just over thinking
But still I must ask what would make someone think I'm unusual?

I can barely stand
The nearness of you.

Your sleeping body shifts
And you capture me with slumbering arms.
The warm breath at the back of my neck
Melts the frozen parts of me,
But there is no use for a lukewarm heart.

Can't you see how your fingertips linger
Or how you scorch me with the warmth of your skin?
This closeness could be the end of me.

You, all of you,
Eyes like chocolate
And lips like strawberries,
I want it all.

And your touch
Is driving me mad.

You.
You are what once stayed my hand from rage.
You once blocked my lips from every bottle,
with your lips.
You are what once prevented tar from coating my lungs,
and you kept hate from filling my heart.
You once prevented my untimely demise.
You.
You are now every punch I throw and take in return,
You are every ounce of liquor that filters through my kidneys.
You are now every carcinogen I too often inhale,
You still keep my heart from hate,
Because you filled it to bursting with sorrow.
You are what I now follow to my grave.
You.