Artificial Contemplation

They know my smile is a lie.
Just an android with wires and chips inside.

Programmed or not, I cry.
Can't that be enough?

A brilliant creator, obsessed with the death of a
talented artist,
Designed my face to resemble her lover's soft lips.
She was said to give quite the kiss.
Now, my synthetic face is all that remains…
As her porcelain skin decays.

I know my face is a lie.
Shaped for my mother to feel less pain and cease the nights alone.

Too scared, won't handle the truth;
My existence holds her back.

Winston is a weird guy who is unable to communicate with sarcasm. Ironically, he understands the concept and can hear it from others. He once spent two hours building a catapult with a friend who compared the ideology of Buddhism with String Theory and three hours on Christmas Eve discussing a scenario where China colonized the western part of North America on a Risk board with his cousin, who was having a difficult holiday. He embraces his mediocrity and loves reggae.

Find more by Winston Van Lance in the Author Index.

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