Wave goodbye
to the bright-colored pixels
moving on LEDs.

Wave goodbye
to the smile not tied to strings,
made to curve by the puppet master.

To and fro,
to the people who laughed with you,
called them friends
back when they were all you needed.

Swing, pendulum, swing—
to the times you swung around
in ignorant bliss.

This isn’t a goodbye,
young one.
You have been killed,
but you will live on
in memory.