"hipstamatic" poems
those were the days
those halcyon days
all sepia tinted
under weird pink haze
we smiled at the camera
manufacturing lies
preserving the moment
with unblinking eyes
life becomes magnified
under a lens
but like a hipstamatic
it's all just pretense
just give me the blurs
and the eyes half closed
cause the truth starts there
not in the fake wooden pose
Mar 9, 2013
Mar 9, 2013 at 9:13 PM UTC