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.