They only love you when you smile:
They crave something in that fake face;
But, when you frown, the smile twists --
They're not around to notice the cracks.
In the fine line between solid reality
And flimsy pseudo-sexual fantasy,
Is a costume composed of hair;
At least, that's what the TV says.
There's a time for everything,
Time being an accepted construct --
Pill break, face-lift..
Boob-job, smoke break.
Then a complication sets in to
This carefully-threaded fabrication:
To choose between artificial perfection
Or absolutely obviating destruction.
They only love you when you smile:
There's something to fear about sincerity.
The imperfections mirrored by your frown;
To fake the smile, the soul dies each time.
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