FairWriter

I want to be you with your honeyed hair, your diplomatic laugh, and your anorexic advantage. with your clear completion, your well-trimmed nails, and your practiced posture. with your clever conversation, your unblemished health, and your cost-effective job. with your quixotic death, your final breath, and your remaining ash.

My smile is overproduced and cheap. a simple muscle lift with a buoyant chuckle suppressed. a calm, universal, prosaic rainbow, too weak to revolve upright. a polite gesture while my soul drowns in insecurity. A production, a curtain, and silent applause. Lazy love, my smile is lazy love.