Look at you, with your picture perfect polaroid smiles,

Twin lips like butterflies pressed against cantilevered dreams

You can’t take what I can’t give, and we become exiles

In photographs, frozen in time and paralyzed thought streams;

We're captured lies of smiling faces pressed on flat screen

While televisions flicker, static reminders of broken men.

And a hand murmurs silent symbols, lines straight and clean,

And they profess miraculous meaning in but a humble pen.

With the writ of a word and the painting of a picture,

A cage is wrought around each enraptured mind,

And moments in time are taken, still no richer,

While only a perfect polaroid picture remains behind.