Ivy cluster
I clasp the painting with tired hands as I color
the clouds with my wishes.
Only one line of vanity to act as my first wrinkle
and center my perception of youth.
Therefore I eat deceptions three times a day,
complete with spicy sauce of life.
They breathe their scars into my skin,
washing away the dignity.
I break tradition, refusing crown of thorns
to be laid upon my head. All peace
has sworn an oath of chastity,
rejecting me from her timorous body.
Such mischief...
And as I refuse a shelter made of stone,
I place my head upon the crown itself,
desired substitute for plinth.
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