I am opened by a known finger
and I am greeted
by the floor as usual.
The scenery changes;
I am brought up to a face.
I reflect faithfully,
as best I can,
and change like the fickle
technological mirror that I am.
Positioned precisely, professionally
because I must capture
something more; something gratifying.

Captured Temporal Form.

Transformation occurs…
I am now approved and saved,
minimised for a few seconds
as the expert fingers
find the application of
my fate.

I am filtered into
a newer, nicer form.
Sometimes a frame surrounds;
tagged with numerous words
for approval.

I get liked

The approval makes them warm, content.
A brief elation so they can
continue in this harsh world.

The Flash of the Bulbs

The flash of the bulbs ignite my passion;
screams of people inspire the vogue fashion.
Gifts of dedication infused obsession,
spotlights melt my truth to reveal the lie.
Sometimes the drugs take me beyond the high.
Eyes watch and wait for the expected downfall:
sometimes the cameras just seem that tall.
The flash is filled with lonely not fortune,
bulbs bright kill the soul like a deadly sin:
Fame, Glory, Cash the fake, false grin.