From the fringes of my vision,

Shadows creep in.

And there's a little tinny knocking,

That won't cease it's ministrations.

So where may I reprieve?

For I know good and well,

I won't sleep tonight.

Stand on the table.

Let me feel your warmth.

Our tender flesh will meld, our hands together.

I can feel the pulse of yours, that quick, flittery pace.

Let me claim it as mine own.

I'll always be a little bit different.

As children, we are taught to group things into categories, to match traits with objects.

But how can you classify, something that's a little of both? Something that cannot certainly lie in any category.

Though is it not the natural delineation? Is it not expected that we, as dynamic people, do not fit into rigid categories?

I used to wish I could, but,

The world would simply be too boring without these oddities.

I wish there could be a day,

You'd see me in a different light.

On a damp night in May,

A buzzing bumblebee's flight.

Under that starry night,

We feel each other's fright,

And we finally understand

Love at its height.

You remind me of shattered glass.

Something so beautiful, so reflective,

When the sun hits you,

You glow.

But when someone wants to pick you up,

You leave a red gash.

How could something so beautiful,

Hurt so bad?

Some seaside

A windy expanse

We make a beeline

For that sun-drenched romance

And somehow

That's enough.

It was as if the wind had never blown a gust, as if the leaves had never rustled.

The silence pervaded every crevice of this wretched world.

Even the waves, ever drawn by the moon, lost their tide.

Eerieness in its pureness.

I can remember when the world had light again. I remember the rustling, the whooshing, the slapping of the waves against rocky shores. Time as a concept warped around them, bending to their every action. The Sun's heat beamed down and warmed our skin.

Now, when the sun beams down, it burns.