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The Subject

I try never to be surprised

But somehow I always seem to surprise other people

It makes me laugh

It means they're expecting something

I used to be the party girl

With a smile in a constant stricture of hysterical pain

Hips cracked

Legs rusted open

Dizzy from watching my bra spin on one too many ceiling fans

After a dozen years I have reached the sublime point

Where everything I do is out of character one way or the other

I didn't even know I had a character

What kind of clown am I?

The crying on the inside kind, I guess

What's wrong with me?

None of your goddamn business

Nothing Really

Well not much

When it's all stripped down

I'm nothing but an overthought flatworm

I move away from the parts of the tank where I get the painful shock

And live to split another day

Or line up side by side with another of my kind and share everything I've got

Everything I am

Everything I've learned

Syzygy it's called

Fact is I can't live up to my own legend

It doesn't particularly interest me anymore

I'm just a rat who's gotten good at working the feeder bar

And staying off the hot spots on the maze

Receive the stimulus

Figure out the least painful response

Stimulus

Response

Stimulus 

Response

Try to build a nest for my young outta that crappy newspaper in the bottom of the cage