Reptilian Overlords Shed Their Skins
They slither in plain sight,
tailored suits hiding scales,
cold eyes behind warm smiles.
I saw one on the news today
blinked twice, vertical pupil flash,
then back to human charm.
Of course.
They meet in marble halls,
forked tongues drafting laws
while we argue over bread prices.
Brilliant, really.
Last week my neighbor changed
his handshake too dry,
smile too wide, teeth a little too sharp.
He offered me coffee.
I declined.
They’ve ruled for centuries,
pyramids their charging stations,
royals their breeding stock.
We are the cattle,
happy in our pens,
scrolling, voting, consuming.
But here’s the joke
they shed their skins every election,
and we cheer the new one,
never noticing the same slit eyes
watching us clap.
Yeah.
Totally real.
Pass the tinfoil.
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