malevolent fingers carve gilded cages.
infinities of wealth scroll out their mats to stay.
demons, though, do hunt his mind, and
anger burns in his starved blood.
silver seems most welcome now, in the midst of sickly yellow.

crumbling empires loom behind his eyes; was the wealth worth it?
ugly questions fly, but uglier answers wait,
rich and yet still, it's all but dirt to his dreams.
shimmering even now is the wealth he cannot reach, the desperate desire to
eat the very world.

ostentatious, he is called, for such a realm of gleaming gold.
fools, he thinks as nightmares creep closer, death a stain spreading on the walls;

gold is treasure,
riches are power.
eating, drinking...i cannot anymore...though what king cares when he owns the world?
epic tales will be told of me.
doomed, he lies awake, convinced of his false glory.