I tried to conjugate it but it kept a solemn laughter. The faux sweetness of it, The hidden disease it ought to have been. It laughed until its throat became raw, And my ego, exiguous, Down-trodden. I cried to provide it and I that balance, And with my eyes, yellow and jaundice-like from all of the salt and smoke, It began to weep with me as well, As if to say, “I am sorry for your loss.” I’d lost it.