The Traveler 3 . . . Reworked

He stood; naked, afraid, and alone.
Should he go back or forward?I
Instead of doing either
he placed his hand on the bridge's railing,
hoping his knees wouldn't give way.
A terrifying dread overcame him.
He leaned forward,
trying to steady himself,
the noise; ferocious.
He knew he shouldn't,
tried not to,
but he cast his eyes down and beheld the rapids.
Wait.
But wait.
The foaming water was not rapids at all.
Oh no, it was only a languid little stream.
It was foaming and churning because of all the
drowning Libidos and accompanying Egos.
 
“Please, what do you want from me?”
 
No one answered him.
He didn't expect them to.
He stared down at the horrible scene below,
hundreds,
no thousands of perishing Libidos
screamed for one more chance.
To be able to go back,
go back to the very perversion
which had sent them to their watery grave in the first place.
Defiant and lustful to the absolute end
is mankind's fascination with skin against skin.
The traveler allowed his eyes to linger
on the scene below,
to not do so he would have had to look into himself.
He gulped a few quick,
intense, mouthfuls of air,
leaned further over the railing,
into the turbulence below
as if he were seeing the very last thing left on earth.
Rank odor emitted from the water now,
an odor which could mean only death and decay.
Suddenly he saw something scurrying from the stream.
Then another.
And more.
egos making a mad dash for . . . where?
Where could an Ego go if it had no body to prod and to push?
Still, they were leaving the water
by the hundreds, maybe thousands,
looking so comical
the traveler laughed aloud in spite of his own calamitous situation.
The egos bounced ahead without feet,
a kaleidoscope of colors, mostly black,
dark blues or heavy greens,
no wimpy colors for the Egos of the world.
And the noise!  
Deafening.
How could Egos make sounds?
But they did.
Angry, spiteful sounds,
like jet planes screaming inside his head.
Then suddenly,
they stopped.
The traveler watched in fascination and horror
as the Egos became too big for themselves
and burst into gore and globs of Ego matter.
Then they were gone;
seeping down the bank into the stream.
What had been fetid odors wafting from below
gave way to a different fragrance;
the lingering smell of All The Lovers he had known.
The combined smell was at first pleasant and satisfying,
taking the traveler back to better times,
the sensuousness of women's caresses.
Faces flooded his thoughts.
Headless, naked bodies fought for dominance inside his head,
until there was only one left.
It was grotesque.
Looked neither feminine or anything remotely close to it.
It was a misshapen apparition,
but it did have a head,
and the face on the head was recognizable.
See?
The face spoke.
I am your lover. Can you not see that?
I am you