Wrong kind of funny

The photo caught me, wide and fake,

a plastic flower in my hair.

A smile I forced, for goodness sake,

a cheap Hawaiian shirt I'd wear.

We thought it gold, that stupid night,

a laugh we'd carry, bright and bold.

Now, in the screen's harsh, blue light,

just something ugly, bought and sold.

No longer humor, just a sting,

a memory, thin and cheap.

What was a joke, a fleeting thing,

is just a secret I now keep.