Not long ago, nerves were frayed,
exposed.
Wires and fuses, flammable, ready for fire.
Fire melted my wires.
Soup I was in giant lake on tall mountain.
But boiling lake.
Trying jump, out, falling back in. Weasel
marking missing fire hydrants. Barking ants,
soup boils away.
Little slinky bees with legs like brooms build
silky nets around me.
Shells.
Warmer and warmer, more shells. Bees winding shells
all around me. Smiling I was with no hat. Soft oil moving away.
Face muscles masking. But shells are
temporary.
Thick this morning, raw tonight. Nerves toasted.
I find self empty and nerves left on street.
I killed my central system
long ago.
Now others kill me every day.
How long do I continue dying every day
with nerves gone, shells gone, how long? Emptiness crawling
toward still burning hell.
Soup,
evaporated to nothing.
-
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stillfugue 
#1 by carldagostino on April 6, 2011 - 11:00 pm
It’s the aftermath of a very bad trip.I have suffered in this scenario for decades. For the outsider it can be dismissed as delusional and imaginary cause for fear and depression but for the person that navigates through this ever eroding and losing war for survival it is very real. I have written several things quite congruent with this piece. A key to surviving is to know the demon and not let him immobilize you. Yes, I feel I know exactly what this poem is saying or at least how it speaks to me. That I know for sure.
#2 by Carl on April 7, 2011 - 10:10 pm
Thank you, Carl. You are kind to comment and it is nice to know I’m not alone…Keep reminding me about knowing the demon.
#3 by siubhan on April 8, 2011 - 7:13 am
your imagery here is, as always, very powerful. raw. disturbing even. it speaks from a very dark place, and carries the reader there with it. i hope this morning finds you somewhere brighter, my friend.
#4 by Carl on April 8, 2011 - 11:07 pm
It has been a lucky day. I get this on “paper,” and there is great relief. Your comment is very encouraging. Thank you.