(poem about driving as close to the edge of the road as you can and secretly hoping you loose controll and drive off)

its dark and cold driving home

the road twists and turns with mist encrouching.

encompasing tangling surrounding

veins on a gnarled old hand.

mist cold and unforgiving

unforgiving in my head.

speeding racing reflexes holding

and I drive dangerously close to the rail.

testing�winning wondering if I'll fall

so close to the edge I'm all but over.

(... sadly this poem was writen this week. I was thinking of trying to say that it was a long time ago so people wouldn't worry...)�