There is a half being, in my mind.
It feels so wrong, luckily nobody saw him
because I’m golden.
So should I decorate him,
should I cream it with the glitter?
It feels so bad to say, but he is just like you
-shallow and needy, just like you,
-vain and overbearing, just like you,
-selfish and complicated, just like you.
Everything, everything in this world that
hurt me, blamed me, left me
is ‘just like you’. And you are golden.
Not an ideal picture to digress,
but he even has friends.
I keep them all, I grew them as pets,
creepy crawlers and fun flowers,
a menacing dread, little nervous insects
at the back of my head.
I am golden and you’re my Golden
-rage - ice age - rage-
and it’s this half-thing behind ( my eyes)
that wants your admiration but
the hotter it gets, the colder it ends.
You are my golden rage,
I grew it against my top predators,
the dinosaurs and even now (when I told you)
I still want you to treat me like a little prince,
but the hotter it gets, the colder it ends.