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Midas of Misery

They call me the Midas of Misery,
I touch the happy and turn them grim,
I touch the rich and turn them poor,
I touch gold and turn it to dust,
I touch the beautiful flowers and watch them wilt,
I touched you, and you turned away.
My touch is of death, of hurt, of worry,
My touch drove you away, and in my disarray,
I left myself alone and ran away,
My spirit on the runaway,
All I do is whisper your sweet name,
"Joshua, Joshua, why don't you love me?"
I have touched you with my touch of death,
You left me coldly, left me shivering, shaking, moaning,
All by myself in the cold,
With no one to hold.

I am the Midas of Misery.