My aluminum skin is pristine.
Yet, I walk stiff and my metal joints creak.
The tin shell of the man I am sits upright.
But under my screen, my smile shines not as bright.
.
What good does it do
To be a liar, to be untrue?
A mask, a poker face, a permanent smile.
None would ever be worth my while.
.
What if I said that under my perfect exterior
My blood is inky black, intestines gushing sulfur?
If my insides are wasted, are putrid, are rotten,
Am I still expected to smile then?