O golden child with golden eyes,

Cushioned by your skin is a ball of sunshine 

Behind that face, those curls, that smile,

In every little step along a well-defined line.

 

O golden child, in a blink of an eye, 

You've grown up only to be left behind.

The butt of the joke, always losing to time, 

Surrendering your brain to your cubicle as you're greying inside. 

 

O golden child, you were meant to be one half of a union,

But your clairvoyance has crumbled into delusions. 

You romanticize talking to yourself like a sitcom character.

It's amusing only till you're drowning in icy waters.

 

O golden child, you're up at night,

Tracing every moment that led you to ramble online.

And when honesty feels heavy, you're armed with a knife,

Carving words on pages till fiction bleeds life.

 

O golden child, you're twenty five, 

And it takes one moment, one person, one word, to turn the tide.

That's what you tell yourself so you feel fine.

That's what you tell yourself so you can sleep at night.