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K Balachandran Mar 2017
Two tumbling Ivans, at least  in him, exist, he could tell
One is soft, easily provoked to pink  goosebumps, all over
When his lady love comes dancing, in a body hugging dress
There is the well known other,visceral,yes, "Ivan the terrible"
At the eruption of ******* frenzy,he who roars like a beast.

Perhaps few more too are on the prowl, all beyond the pale
If he challenges with a firm resolve,they may show up!
Saint Jimmy May 2016
I don't care thats the thing. I cant take it anymore.

You don't know what its like with Jimmy in my head slowly taking over.
I cant, every peaceful moment is taken up by Jimmy and he is winning.

"I should have realised earlier"
"I can't have you running round like that"
"please do me a favour and just do It" he does that all the time.

Thats why I don't sleep.

I can't be strong anymore.
Doesn't anyone ******* understand.
I'm only so strong and right now  I have to fight myself.
I cant win this fight.

It will destroy me.
I have no strength anymore. If I take anymore I will crumble and lose the fight.
To anyone suffering with similar thoughts or alter-egos I am here to listen and help you deal with them. If you are worried that the thoughts/ alter-egos are too much then I suggest you seek professional advice, as you're too beautiful to lose the fight
Sean Flaherty Oct 2015
{9/23/15 - 12:09 PM}  

[page 1]

“I’m Flagstaff.”

I'm borne-witness, to a splattered human corpse. I'm twice-over. Shocked. I'm doubled, where I'd have sworn, there were once three, of me. I'm the witness. I'm: the sequel. I'm the self that slept through my own screaming, for help.

[Somebody, stop me. Please, assist, with-this.]

I'm jaw-dropped. I'm probably halfway to heart-attacked. I'm trying to remember what an old boss had said, about that. I'm sure that this is traumatic enough, to ask, for a few days off.

I'm on my way, to officially knock, on the door, of the office (which is always locked). I'm hanging my hat, on a lamp, inside-it. I'm hitting the light switch, and melting-more, plastic. I'm crying the realest of tears.

I'm not wiping [page 2] them away anymore. I'm distant, from a once prioritized fear, of a nap on the floor. [Or, a drug-saturated, and dark-eared, dirt-sleep.] I'm considering the wax I'd left, on that dirt, near the splatter-stain. I'm calling out my own name.

I'm thankful for any opportunities to recharge your batteries, but I've told you before of my power outages. I'm outraged.

I'm waking up to the Grim Reaper, in my rocking chair, every morning.

I'm forgetting, "who made that chair for me?  I'm not sure, "she did much more, than paint it." I'm too big, "to fit-in, it, any way?"

"He can ******* keep-it." I'm not sure who said that. "I'm right here, you glorious fool." I'm far-from, and a Good Word Away, from a fool.

[page 3]

"You've spent so much ink, on your Kryptonites. Can't we just shoot some cans, off the over pass, with our laser vision?" I'm stuck-on. The idea's that I must do-good. "You're better, than done-good. You're the Great-Best-Unfinished." I'm confused...

"Well, I'm not. I've been taking over, for years, but you've ignored it with tears, and the salt you spit angry, at selves, far more jangly. I'm the S on your chest when it stands for success, or your second-half, or your superpowers."
I'm Superman!

"Sure, but I'm Flagstaff. This is my sword. We've got an army of angels on the way. Suicide is a coward's [page 4] out."

I'm not professing any bravery. "You've pretended you were better to brothers, and sisters, for almost two years. Your responsibilities outweigh your rare ability to regret your existence. Rally-up, Mr. Wizard." I'm not as well-versed in the old craft, as I used to be. I'm not really writing fantasy. I'm self-centered, "in the middle of," a really nice day.

I'm aggregating all the energy I can use, to arm my amazement. I'm splitting my personality, to prevent feeling so-pulled, apart.

"Now you're getting it."

I'm spinning gems, looking for lost contacts, and rebuilding, a burnt-bridge... [page 5] I'm just gonna need one day asleep...


at your house... in Right City...


I'm gonna chop my horns off, on the rails of the train tracks. I'm simply gonna rest my head...


on the platform...


and wait.

I'm not sure where Flagstaff went.

"Get the ******* the floor." I'm not sure I'd call this the floor. "Get the **** up, we're going to bed."

I'm not tired. "Well, you're gonna be."

[I'm halfway to the decision to get back on my feet, before the screaming subway shuttle smacks the wrong-side of my right horn. It splinters and cracks and spins me, slicing the [page 6] lesser half of the left-one, on the lip of the first car.] I'm checked for head trauma, quarter-horned. I'm hoping the devil was bid: "back down."

"Sleep now?"

I, uh... I'm not sure who I'm talking to... this time.

{9/27/15 - 12:28AM} An angry redhead operates farm-equipment (the heavy-kind) with an Xbox controller, from inside my television set. My eyes are trained on the answers, with which, I had, typed-in, responded, to his voice. A skunk walks by outside. I can't tell if it was attracted to the ****, or the weasels.

I'm just about to lose myself, again, along [page 7] with everyone else.

"Stop letting yourself get bored! I see you there! Your eyes, glazed-over, like this'll be just another ******* poem you read, over, and over, again, to yourself.
"For yourself! I beg you to wipe the cobwebs, from your eyeballs, and break a little bad here! **** it, man!"

**** it indeed. I'm too clean to fight the **** machine. So roll me a fattie, and sell-off my spleen. I can be mean, but I hate when I show it. You-zhuh-Lee trip, when I'm flowin', but  find ways, to keep  goin'. And I don't wanna do wrong by my friendships. Want them to know, [page 8] when I'd said, I "love" them, I meant it. But I don't have the money they've been lookin' for, I spent it. Bruising up my knees, begging: "leave my skull un-dented!"

Rented out the couch, before I stole my brother's bedroom, for the afternoon, in my dreams, I was singin' show-tunes. Doomed to sound. Like "rip-off-Danny Brown." This clown, that clown. We still around. Came back to your hometown, and ended up inside, your little blue notebook. Said "you shoulda read it!" When you spat-that-****, the Earth shook.

Forgot to ditch my henchman, as I entered fourth dimension. Words are sentient, and mention, more than definition. Hush up, listen, see! We be the glorious ones, without a gun, but weapons that, from our tongues, are flung, and they're still unheard. Weapons are glorious words, see-through, the story.

I'll purge all the toxins in your mind. Like oxen, farmed for hides, by the shepherds we were finding. But the field is made, of food, and that dude's always been rude. It's time we charge, with-horns down. Buck the rodeo clowns.
Off the cliff's a better-tread, head above water, 'fore we drowned. On bottom-rocks we'd woke up dead, yet still without the farmer 'round. So if instead you swim to nearby islands, start your grazing. Freedom never came by anyone who can't endure some hazing.
The sequel to "Essay #2: 'I'm'"
Alisha Vabba Sep 2015
Is it no longer me
Living in this purple shallow sea?
Where cracked shells sleep,
scratching the soles of my feet.

You are the reason,
The clench of teeth.
Under skin, squatting unwanted,
Sticky and mean in my brain.

Ghastly creature
Your well-eyes burnt my soul.
I rose clever from you ashes,
But somehow no longer whole.

I’m switching off slowly this time,
Not all of a sudden.
I get heavier and heavier each day.
The life tickles and taunts as it leaves

And the power of your throne
Sharper than love and humanity,
Squirts its ink of insanity
As it poisons my bones.
Shadow Paradox May 2015
Floating in a nacre, cream pool
Splattered with ink, dreams, and azoic butterflies
A monolithic love dance begin
Shifting one personality into another


As three stone bodies

and twirl
With a rocky rhythm

Their papery skin
Peel back in finery consumptions
As their minds become one
Ariel Knowels Jun 2014
Shoulders back
Head up
Lips soft
Hair swaying
Waist minimized
Hips squared
Nice ***
Legs long
Feet delicate

She walks with a purpose
with a grace
that leaves boys drooling at her feet

Her peers try to steal them away
she sneaks in though,
stealing all of their gazes.

She never settles,
she only takes the best
and never leaves any for the rest.

All it takes is a smile
and a giggle,
and they come running.

She's smart and funny,
poised and controlled,
loved and lusted for.

How I am envious of her,
she would make me the prize of my town,
but instead she makes me the ***** of the internet.

She has stolen men from their wives,
money from their wallets,
and robbed boys of their lives.

I think that this new one,
could be the one to take me away,
but she knows.

She knows that he is only a toy
and she the cat,
playing with him so carefully.

I will run away when he comes around,
and she will keep him at a safe distance
while I cry over my decisions.

I can't win
Because without her no man will want me,
But with her no man can have me.
How I wish my alter-ego was Sasha-fierce

— The End —