Golden eyes drink dry
Goblets of sunrays

Swallowing gallows of Greed
Guzzling and Gobbling

Like fat cats gazing
Down upon field mice

Gallantly waiting for
False Gods, redeeming
Envy's green deciet

I flip words like pancakes
The residue left on that plate
Is gold to an orphan in that state.

Paranoid none the less I express my deepest regrets, 24 and still in school why hasn't the fool finished yet?

let the negative wave it's sword with a threat, taunting and poking at me, threatening to take it from me. These words are what I have left, now I'm left in this state of worry...did I leave patience in a hurry?

Is my purpose to fear the future & forget what is truly worthy?

Step in my mind and you'll find that my demons flurry
for this friction is not fictitious, but a depiction fury

pummeling perseverance...just pass no interference,
because those who try to catch look devilish in appearance.

I'm a rebel with a spirit of a tiger running free, from a jungle that is
Huddled by gravel and it's street. Now can't you see that we all live inside of Places that are neat? Organized by a function that's constructed yet Unique

let these rooted words form like branches on a tree, then be seen in deep vistas Equally open seas.

I can't really listen to that band anymore,
But that's okay.

With hearts of gold,
Comes the idea to always do right,
Or to at least always try.
And it leaves me too smart for my own good,
As he told me many times.

I am golden,
Like the sun,
Like the stars,
Like the light that could guide you home,
If you ever wanted it to.

But some people prefer silver,
And that's cool too.

I don't have to be the best
In the eyes of anyone
Besides
My Bluebird.

And to him I'm much more than gold,
Much more than a prize.
I'm his Hummingbird,
And that's worth more than any value
Any metal
Could ever have.

(Understand my intentions,
These are not my confessions.
Trust, though, that I've done my wrongs,
That's it. So long.)

They're called our golden years
because they're shiny, energy
pitter patters inside dollar store batteries
didn't quite fit the mold the remote control
gave them but they still managed to get by
They're called our golden years
because 1920s America were golden too,
corruption blanketed poverty,
depression plagued the youth
while beautiful violin numbers drowned out the screams
I always pictured the song that I **** myself to,
one from the jazz age,
so no one knows I was so rotten underneath
the gold I worked hard to shine
each and every day
I'm 20 now
I'm golden, now
Composing my piece to debut
before I turn 22

You're gold?
Yeah gold plated
What's underneath your skin?
Abbreviated
Silence longing
Life sold cheap
You reap what you know
Selling yourself
Where is it getting your mental health?
To be a make up covered scar
Instead of a star
Chain smoking to fill your time
Life is lived through the eyes of grime
We are in your little band
Miserable we still don't understand
Life in conflict makes a good story
You tell yourself I don't want to be ordinary
Debt ridden though and poor
You're fighting your invisible war
and yet the people and the politicians don't care anymore
You tell yourself it'll get better
The glass half full to aspire
Lights your fire
are you burning bright
Or burning away

dare i wonder what you think of me
for i do not know what i think of myself.
maybe there's a difference between how you see yourself and how you let others see you.
     am i a plague or a remedy
     am i stone cold or burning flames
     am i chilled to the bone or am i a home
sometimes home can be a person, but i am no home.
my hands are cold, they will burn you with
frost. i am kind but i am afraid.
my chest hurts with the thought of you.
not because i wish to have you but because
                            i don't.
maybe i do, but i am an ocean and you are lost in me. i can see the moon.
     do i flee from what i have only to retreat to what i am?
i ask of you, are you something new or the
                             thing that i can't find.
i have a treasure that i wish to keep and
                              not soil.
you are a treasure of your own.
yet i am not worthy.

i can have obsidian or i can have gold.
Man has always been greedy but i am
                      Humble.
     am i kind?
am i kind to take a cherry with
     cyanide pit?
you believe me a diamond, but i am only coal.
you, my dear, have a heart made of gold.

Look at the smile on that woman's face
Look at her shoes
Feel her warm embrace
Watch her laugh
Hear her sing
This woman right here is everything

Midas was my enemy,
A violent grip, on an old pen
Tossed it over for me to bend
Words for his twisted golden mind

The cursed King with all his riches
Wanted the prose for cure
A rhythmic rhyme  to rid his shine
To end his touch of alchemy

I pitied the old man, his metallic
Skin, did send shivers down my spine
I offered a verse, reading and lips pursed
As 24 karats fell from his eyes