i’m like King Midas,
surrounded by gold, the best
but i don’t touch it,
can’t touch the very material
i give off,
can’t make myself the kind of happy
i (apparently) make others.
i give off pure gold,
24k happiness,
but the metal grows cold in
my veins, turns solid
letting the worst seep into my bloodstream
and the best
swirling through the veins of the ones
around me.
oh, how i wish
i could get a taste of that
24k golden sun.
-a.c.b