Her face blushing pink
With cut-rate teardrop earrings
Unkind to most others
Except not to me
Her face wears a smile
Worn well and not forced
A surprise in this world
with lips curled down norms
Her face is a stranger's
Colored vibrant and pure
At most, seven seconds
'Til time starts again
YOU ARE READING
All My Memories Are Digital
PoetryA critical look of the past, filled with internal monologues, that tries not to be needlessly wordy or complicated.
