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You told me I ought to smile more, That I'd look better If I smiled. So I did that. I smiled. And my smile grew wider. And you, as much an abuser As I am to these poor italics, Quivered. You said, "All right, Maybe that's enough For today." I said, "What? I thought You wanted me To smile." And my lips, my cheeks, Grew all the more wide, Eyes bulbous. And you said, "All right, Maybe you should put down That big, scary knife. Wait, where did you—?!" And I said, "Oh! Right. This little thing. Ha, silly me! Silly, silly me, With my inability To smile." "Okay, all right," you said. "I get the point!" "No," I said, my eyes and smile As wide now as possible. "But you will." And I raised the knife— Cleaving my writer's block neatly Into two pieces, which stood At an awkward angle, then Collapsed dully, Hollow insides Billowing out the lilac smoke Of imagination, which I Breathed in, Returning all at once To my former self. "Oh, oops! Sorry about that," I said, Putting away the