I am the thorn pulled from the side of those who burn their eyes staring into the sun The star positioned to guide us home to peace of mind, sleep at night Abandoned, the sick child in the woods to be raised by the lost My lack of faith draws beady eyes, dismaying tongue Promised expulsion if I had not already removed myself These synapses do not fire when A is me and B a puppet grab bag Strings pulled behind curtains around necks My mind may be sick, but it's in my blood It will not work Therefore it cannot matter Yet here I am, the unwilling fool, silent dunce, the problem So here's an idea Let's tear this thing in two Rip out its insides Put it back together and ask it to function And when it only fails, let us maintain hope It does not take a pound of knowledge Only an ounce of sense among many