face lift is for you twerp

do you like it all without the wrinkles? and i like it that you smile a little more. even though - the smile is for the smooth satin like surface, almost a reflection of your own narcissistic grin protruding out of that shallow mask slipping. and we make small chats, dance like nothing is amiss, the music is strong, vibrant, the cat whose hair has been shaved tries to roll about on the grass, sticky with honey. jumps up and yowls, look at me! the entertainers come with big guitar sets, the loud claps on the back, the lips curling upwards east and west alike - for the money. the twinkling eyes, glittering as embers, a thud of an oak tree no longer adamant, withers, splatters on brittle glass. a shaved cat, a wrinkled face pulled taut, a condescending smirk transformed to brightness: like a false morning star quietly breaking the spell when it gives no heat. perplexity, then horror as the maggots they eat up the dead wooden tree, the flesh rots from the inside out, the shrill of musicians when the bad check bounces. glass cracks, cut to an infinite times, gleams like diamonds at night reflecting this shared illusion of what feels like love. then the heart bleeds out like a million stars in the sky no longer adamant, withering, splattering on black holes - like the holes in our souls, a vision of hell penetrated behind tight taut smooth satin like skin and merry men beaming their very best act.