Chamaeleontidae

I received news last night that a friend from college has pasted away. Apparently he lost the battle with the bottle and passed due to liver failure.

College holds a lot of dear memories, and a lot of memories that I didn’t even remember then. At the time we thought it was Self indulgence, but for far too many of us it was learning behaviors that we would draw upon later in life. It’s a small step from doing something because you want to; to doing it because you need to… Was it really self indulgence or the inner daemons of self mutilation? Both I guess…

Anyway, when the pressure is high, my muse makes an appearance. And so this was written.


Knife’s edge

I live along the knife’s edge.
To the left and right I see peril.
Yet walking the straight line takes control.
And maintaining control requires all that I have.

I survive along the knife’s edge.
Yet the pressure builds on the outside, and from within.
Where do I choose to fight?
How long can I fight?

A friend fights along the knife’s edge.
His battles his daemons, on the inside and out.
With in himself he sinks.
The battle is lost.

I mourn along the knife’s edge.
More resolved to battle on.
But I take this moment to remember.
May you rest in peace.

__________________
"Reality is just a crutch for people who can't cope with drugs."
Robin Williams.