If you can seed apprehension deeply in a generation, you can reap disillusionment for a hundred years. Bent foresight twists hindsight. Admiring ignorance, signs death’s warrant. Evil splintered to a thousand slivers burrows under the skin without killing their host. Death delayed spreads destruction along with melancholy; a septic contagion if ever there was one. And how do we fight this systemic blight? It is embedded in the water, the air, the mind, and try what I might; I can’t seem to live without any of these. Chiggers of the soul feed and breed no matter how I scratch and chew. I am raw, but still infested. How do I kill what is in me without killing the me?
Step up to indecision
Because there is never enough punishment
For those who inflict pain, I punish myself
Only I can tell if the depth of the pain is a match
Only I can judge when enough is enough.
This is the turn of the drunken worm–
Who lives in my brain
The belief that what began in pain
Must end there too.
Even now in recovery I persist in hurting myself
In a thousand tiny ways, setting trap after trap,
To catch the perpetrators, making my heart a mine field
A place unfit for me to live
I must sober the worm
And let myself off the hook.