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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





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

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