Blue Collar Elixir

The wealthy seek company with your ten-acre heart and one-acre mind. Groupies swarm beneath your haloed window even on rainy nights. Tapping tambourines and triangles to poultice out those nuggets of life. You slowly walk away from the frame and tiredly kiss them goodnight. You try tempering pace, but the takers ripped the sundial from you. Swarming like locusts- toting manuscripts, a photo shoot or two. Who new babysitting the universe could be so damn exhausting. Impossible to escape from the talons of a new age paparazzi. All that you loved and lived for, has long ago withered and died. You barricade from the gaze of a billion grasping green eyes. Another golden chessboard gifted to you from an aging king. Yet another bribe to pry from your palm the secret of eternity. It all became to much; you've become the world's origami freak. Folding and unfolding to appease the whirling maelstrom of greed. You realize (to late) that the elixir is no blessing but a cutting curse. You've been committed to an asylum called the song of dead birds. Your 6006 years old, playing endless chess with moonbeams and ghosts, dimming lights-drawing shades to drown out the mirror and the smoke. You try explaining to Dr. Narcotic you're not a goblin,God or prophet just a blue collar pawn who stumbled upon an elixir of misery and rot.