I have expensive taste, I love
leather and satin and innocence,
and its willingness to give me things;
diamonds clawed from the ground
by peasants, miles below oil,
and boys that call me beautiful
when I so clearly am not.

I love jewellery, the gold
that binds it's way round my wrist.
Asp quietly slithering alongside it -
by my arteries, twisting repeatedly,
kissing my blood stream, pulse
throbbing beneath the long pearly
fangs, ready to puncture skin.

My addiction is killing me
the shiny things, the pyrite,
the glittering quartz is all worthless.
And terrified of the outcry I flaunt
what I have - all fool's gold, all of it.
Only for fools that we kiss,
you do not love me and so I am foolish.