luxuriously sad

and they sit still on their thrones,

adorned with their crowns and jewels. 

and they slowly fade into the the hustle of questions of, “who are you to rule?”

and the royals’ minds ignore the latter,

and focus on the inquiry of, “who are you?”

they live in gemmed veins and expensive tears,

but why does that really matter?

they’re only kept alive because they are needed, not wanted; unbearable truth. 

“who are you to rule?”

who are you?

“who am i to rule?”

who am i? someone please lighten my blues. 

and they sit still on their thrones,

sculpted by their crowns of gold. 

aromatic, seething precious stone

melting, dripping onto their lips; a seductive mold. 

and they sit still on their thrones,

forever drugged by the malicious beauty. 

carved by the mellow clacking of coins. 

mouth taped by the hungry, greedy eyes of 

“humanity.”

benumbed to composed lunacy. 

thought of as a beatific family. 

a family of nobodies,

embodied by their prosperity.