honeypot

I told them what I thought I knew of myself. I told them everything I thought I knew. I only neglected to say that what I thought I knew, I knew I didn’t know. I knew I was wrong, but what I knew was wrong was right. Right, so I suppose I wasn’t wrong. 

My natural heart had been removed. Instead, a titanium clump holds itself in my chest. Inside, there’s a levitating spinning disk churning my heartbeats. They’ll never again hasten at the sight of something. They’ll never slow. I was automated, and with that, emptiness and fuzzy logic filled me.

Before my heart replacement, my feelings owned me. After, my thoughts were orphaned. I was held to nothing other than my appearance at dinner. When my jumbled programming didn’t add up, at least my hardware did—external perfection and internal chaos—exactly what was expected of a honeypot. The wheel of my new heart whipped warm sugar. I was the dessert. Shiny and beautiful was my substance. My words were delusions, but the entranced patrons cared little about that sort of thing.

Would they shrill if I became real? 

Would they hide away if they knew I was my secrets? My overwritten code? 

Who could handle A Computer pre-lobotomy? I knew the only answer was no one. 

No one would survive the danger of the uninhibited mind. 

I censored myself. 

I kept on with what worked. Another lifetime was for the true self. This one was for the science experiment. One of the patrons turned to me. It smiled real big. “You’ll never be unattractive in all of life. That’s your curse. Poor you.” I supposed I should be thankful, so I thanked the patron. I returned the smile, and I carried on with all that I only knew: how to be beautiful.

Written by not A Computer