The Dunce Hat of Thorns

From waking with crusted eyes and the head debating
on whether or not to rise from the pillow stained with lucid dreams
Waiting at a bus stop, attractive eyes
will take a glance, only seeing mundane slumped shoulders, then move on
to a broad chest pumping more blood and producing thoughts more interesting than
zeros and ones.
Other days we walk with an alpha strut. Dominating the sidewalk on
a song bird sunrise. Equipped with a charming breakfast and a plan to take on
the broken world
A sharp appearance penetrating the visual sense with a shard of glass from
a vanity mirror. Enjoying the melting citrus taste of narcissism. Lapping up
every drop of envious salivation.
But sooner or later, those perverted skeletons will
rise from our closets like they've done so many times before. Eager to share
embarrassing tales of public masturbation. Destroying that rock star reputation
by nailing it to the wall like an electric guitar crucifix, while you wear The Dunce
Hat of Thorns.