The Golden Tragedy Poem by Vivian Martens

Hello.
I don’t think you saw me here, l but I’m saying hello anyway.
You’re standing in the center of a crowded room.
All the bright lights catching your chiseled face,
gleaming like fire balls in your eyes.
You seem to be the great vessel of hope for us all.
But I see a human being.
With skin so thick and golden that you are the light.
I also appear to be the only one who notices the little cracks in that perfect physique of yours.
Care to share what efforts you took filling in those cracks?
I’m not stupid
I see the layers of adhesive rubber you’ve forced between them.
Oh.
It wasn’t you as it?
Who fixed you up until you shone like a stone?
They did.
Now you’re looking at me like I’m crazy,
but I see through that tiny crevice in your eye,
and it is screaming.
Someone finally saw.
Someone knows.
What did they promise you?
All the power and wealth,
to be the king of a world soaked in morphine/nicotine.
All it cost was something this world has long forgotten the worth of.
Just one, measly, little soul.
Your soul.
You were so young, so desperate.
They cut it out of you in a quick slice and filled the hole with concrete.
They showed you their matching scars,
badges of honor and wisdom.
Then they stared on that skin.
That skin.
Stripped it down until you were red and raw,
covered the wounds with shining metal.
But the jokes on them.
Because that soul left scar tissue that held on to the humanity they had stolen.
And now it’s trapped under all that expensive clothing and fancy watches
which are feeling more like a jumpsuit and handcuffs as each day weighs you down.
I’m sorry.
I am so sorry.
You should see your face;
you’re so shocked your mouth is just hanging open.
Quick, close it before they see.
You’re not supposed to open your mouth.
You wanna do something crazy?
I can see you do.
You want to run away from this crowded room of crowded people.
But who am I?
Who is this person?
Why am I mixed in amongst the demons that run your own personal circle of hell?
Am I an angel?
Or am I worse than them?
It’s anyone’s guess.
See I never got my shell so my soul seeped right up to them skin.
I don’t have any cracks because I am one big crack.
You don’t meet many people like that,
do you?
So here’s your choice.
Everything you ever wanted
or you can take my hand and run straight off the cliff.
It’s up to you.

I didn’t think so.
You are too far gone.
You see,
I show up here searching for remnants of a world I barely remember but am clinging to.
I’ve never met another like me,
except for you.
But they got you.
I’m too late.
We could have changed everything.
Burnt this dystopia to ash and raise a new chance from the mass graves we scratched into the ground with our own finger nails.
Oh they see me now;
they are walking toward us,
pulling you back into the spot light so you can shine for them.
But be careful,
that trick will get old fast when the golden skin really starts to flake away.
A chip today may be a spider wed of broken glass tomorrow.
They will love it.
They will join in ceremoniously pushing you into the flame.
And with your armor now scattered and broken,
nothing left to protect you from your damnation,
you will burn right up.
I’m sorry.
I am so sorry.