The Pedestal.

 As of recently, it has been vacant yet it still stands mighty. 

Her Majesty has left her thrown, but the love and admiration continue blindly.

The queen is gone, but the throne remains.

She no longer rests on that pedestal in my mind, but the pedestal itself is everlasting,

 bolted into the ground, with chains. 

The pedestal. 

Gilded, yet constantly weighing me down. 

An impressionable block of fake gold weighing a thousand pounds. 

Despite the absence of the queen, the burden remains. 

My mind will never be free of its phony, shiny yellow stains.

An unshakable impression, molding my brain

I want to scream and expose the truth, but I refrain.