bornthiswayfox

those days were golden King Midas laid his hands on all the places I had grown to hate anointed them turned them a sacred home again made me his own but freed from the years that had closed all the doors; branded his name with heavy lips I relented all freely reciprocated the energy he provided time grew short, the sun cold his hands slowly felt tighter around my neck I watched as the gilt and glitter those slender fingers once left began to fade and turn to an unfamiliar gray gold plated I was rusting beneath, my inherent vice. now my King only leaves tarnish behind fingerprints of pyrite. I gave his hands everything. fool’s gold c