Deep The Edge

[Captain.Heroin]

[too sugary retracted for diabetes]

You are not enough.
I stand by the edge. Of a cliff.
Made of drugs. Or a literal one.
You are not reason enough to step away.
I want to end my life. I think this should be it.
I didn't do it. I regret my decision.
I'm stuck in a world of inaction. Instability.
Idiots running amok. They fear death. I don't.
They seek out each day as if it's their last. I won't.
This day ought to be my last, but I know it won't be.
This curse will continue. I won't get the final rest.
We are not enough.
To save us from ourselves.
I ought to be the first to go,
I just hope you do not follow in my footsteps.
Do not read this. It was not meant for you.
It is too delicate for the ears for the one I wrote this for.
I love you, damn it.

 

[Captain.Heroin]

 

[Jabberwocky]

I like your words! It seems like something that I would write. Sharp, beautiful...

However...

I thought this was going to be an excerpt from the writings of Hunter S. Thompson, which will forever stick in my mind:

The Edge - Hunter S. Thompson

It was always at night, like a werewolf,
that I would take the thing out honest run down the coast.
I would start in Golden Gate Park,
thinking only to run a few long curves to clear my head.

The momentary freedom of the park was like the
one unlucky drink that shoves a wavering alcoholic off the wagon.
But in a matter of minutes, I'd be out at the beach
with the sound of the engine in my ears,
surf booming up on the sea wall,
and a fine empty road stretching all the way down to Santa Cruz.

There was no helmet on those nights,
no speed limit,
and no cooling it down around the curves.

Then into 2nd gear,
forgetting the cars and letting the beast wind out...
35...45...
then into 3rd, not worried about green or red signals,
but only some other werewolf loony.

Now there's no sound except the wind...
The needle leans down on 100.
Windburned eyeballs strain to see down the center line,
no room at all for mistakes.

And that's when the strange music starts...
The Edge... there is no honest way to explain it,
because the only people who really know where it is,
are the ones who have gone over.

The others, the living;
are those who pushed their control
as far as they felt they could handle it.
And then pulled back, or slowed down.

But The Edge is still out there...

 

[nznity]

Why do you want to end your life?
When there's so much to do, you have to stay alive
There's alot of meaningful stuff left to do in this race
Please don't look at me with that face
Grief, sorrow and pain is natural for us to feel
Wake up there's also joy, ecstasy and a shit load of thrill.
Life and it's dichotomy is something we must embrace
When you finally realise that, take my hand and we'll fly out to outer space.

 

[Captain.Heroin]

I wrote something quite sugary and love/life-oriented for a love interest and I was kind of disgusted with how "bare and exposed" I felt in being happy/optimistic with my lovey-dovey feelings so I replaced the original post with this.

It's an inverse on the relationship in a "the cup is half empty, chipped and leaking all over the table, my pants, the floor..." type writing.

 

[nznity]

I wrote something quite sugary and love/life-oriented for a love interest and I was kind of disgusted with how "bare and exposed" I felt in being happy/optimistic with my lovey-dovey feelings so I replaced the original post with this.

It's an inverse on the relationship in a "the cup is half empty, chipped and leaking all over the table, my pants, the floor..." type writing.

No like to Ur buddy nznity for writing something kewllll. Bad @Captain.Heroin haha

 

[Jabberwocky]

I don't know why.. but I felt like posting this poem in this thread. I think Bukowski was on on this same thread... maybe not....

There once was a woman who put her head into an oven By Charles Bukowski

Terror finally becomes almost bearable,
but never quite.
Terror creeps like a cat
crawls like a cat
across my mind.
I can hear the laughter of the masses
they are strong,
they will survive,
like the roach.
Never take your eyes off the roach.
We'll never see it again.
The masses are everywhere.
They know how to do things.
They have sane and deadly angers,
for sane and deadly things.
I wish I were driving a blue 1952 Buick.
Or a dark blue 1942 Buick,
Or a blue 1932 Buick,
over the cliff of hell,
and into the sea.