Ace Of Black Hearts
Giving Up The Gold.
Yes I'm perfectly fine, fine as a butterfly flapping in the summer breeze.
Words to inspire and ignite fires.
But I'm not pulling any teeth with pliers.
No pain dealt.
The fuzz of some pretty felt.
A heart set in a glass too melt.
Yes the book does burn.
But is it hot enough?
To satisfy, to quell, esteems upheld.
Hearty ghost, mighty divine to roast.
Cheer and jeers attached to empty toast,
Is it a meaningless frost?
Was there really no reason to be so cold?
A fool and his gold.
I am him.
So take it.
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