The I
It stares me down
and taunts me;
get the rope,
load the gun
wield the knife
swallow the pill.
It cuts me
to the core
every time
I walk across
a bridge
or feel the fine
free wind
at the
cliff’s edge.
It whispers
in my ear;
claiming
alienation,
divinity;
but I know it
for what it is,
for the third eye
is often blind.
I still have
the power
to turn the voices down,
Besides,
I’m stubborn that way,
I would never let
the I
have the last laugh.
