I Am Pyrite

what truth falls from these lips is gold, and the truth is that I am pyrite, and the lies are the aureate smiles that beam sunshine to start your day but in reality mark the end in glittering, golden twilight. a travesty of the honesty, $8 at the gift store, praying you think you see the sheen that befits a majesty, and forget that lesson in science class that labeled me as... doppelganger, wannabe, imposter, gold as much as quartz are diamonds... but after the purchase, who cares? Marvel at me and later recall that you chose Fool's Gold and thus you are a fool, and thus I belong to you. *I'm not sure about the rest of the poem starting from the second stanza. Does it fit? Does it feel right? Comment your feedback. Note that this comment will be taken down after a period of time.