Synthetic Happiness

AN: O.o;;; Yeah, I know I need to see a psychologist... ^^;;;

In the factories
They make these stupid,
Stupid machines.
They produce the rubber smiles
The plastic grins
The dumb face you find on your boyfriend
Who just had sex with a whore on the street
They make those annoying tears of joy
That you pretend to cry when your best friend
Marries your ex
Because she was the whore on the street
And those stupid,
Stupid machines.
They make those idiot dimples
You find on the models
Who are filled with anorexic dreams
And bulimic fantasies
And healthy nightmares.
Those stupid,
Stupid machines.
They create the things that make us cry
Because we use them.
Stupid machines.
Creating things we don't need!
We don't need another mask over our face
Another layer of paint we'll have to chip off anyway
We don't need you to make
Such things like stupid grins
And cutesy dimples
And dumb faces
And everything in between
And beyond of course.
I don't need any stupid,
Stupid machines
To create
Synthetic happiness
For me.
I can paint illusions for myself.