It is not just anyone given the gift of a gilded
pulpit from which to express his silver-spooned
disappointment in life when he feels entitled to
the golden spoon. But there it is, life in all its
blistered sore points laid out for public consumption
for a rapt audience awaits, eager to hear how sadly
deficient in compassion for their own royalty can be.
No one, the pouting complainant, charges can
fully comprehend the sheer villainy of the press's
role in his sainted mother's demise ending her
performative art scenarios of wounded innocent
fleeing a dystopian marriage in the arms of yet
another paramour. It is that same celebrity-hungry
media he courts as he counts the proceeds of his
belched-forth claims of rejection all the while
besmirching father, brother, grandmother and
retainers all failing his critical nurture. Revealing
to the agape world at large the trauma of having
been born a second son in a dynastic tradition
unforgiving in its rigidity of pomp and circumstance.
His is the final revenge tormenting his victims with
the livid spite of his decadent, self-pitying mind.
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