My head spins at the thought of your embrace.
like a flame to the drapes I erupted,
and burnt down the house that held me up.

I need you.

I need all of you in the most terrifying ways,
you're like a drug I've never experienced,
daunting, and wicked.

I crave you.

Like the plains crave the wind,
or a painter craves pastels,
you're like a potion.

You keep the bad away.

You keep me at the highest peak of insane,
lost in the greatest way,
like dancing with the absence of rain.

I'm only lukewarm, marginally mediocre.
Not quite laid-back enough to be considered cool
Nor adequately exciting for red hot.
Just going by, average, as a rule.
I'm much too old to be reckless and immature,
Yet not as old as wisdom and a good war story.
Not so rich to live out luxurious abandon
but far too rich to be tragically sorry.
I'm unremarkable, uneventful, uninteresting,
Uncool and unattractive, unfit and unaware.
I assume I'm just not- I'm everything 'un' already,
A stale glass of water, gone oddly warm in stagnant air
I am lukewarm, at best.
Perhaps some day I'll be blast frozen
Or I had once been boiled hot.
For now though, there are no cubes of ice
That I can swallow and be more than not.
I am the everyday masses, lost in the throng,
The not-particularly-bright, non-slacker, no-name brands
That believe they're not good enough- or quite the sharpest prong.
We, the herd lost in the middle bench lands-
We're wild and we're sober,
Frightened and unafraid.
We're nothing like you, but we're just the same.
But we, the ones who spend our lives
In the middle bench,
                                                          ­ will be alright.
           We can persevere, *we can.