A Publicity Whore

I’m the one that uses and abuses unseeing,

a leech that sucks the essence out of one’s being.

Exploitation is my one and only valid name,

and exclusivity and fame is my main game.

I show you the world from my point of view,

but the facts I keep obscured securely from you.

I fiercely claim I fight and speak up for the truth,

whilst my treatment of my workers is rather uncouth.

I don’t bother about decency or human respect,

the existence of my servants I contentedly neglect.

Their lives I willingly sacrifice and their blood I shed,

after they’re gone, I bury their name with the dead.

I label the gone souls as “martyrs” to fool you,

to deter you away from seeking what’s true.
 I cunningly name my studios after the deceased,
although their lives for me have long ceased.

I may remember those ‘no more’ during anniversaries,

but I only do so to win favour and shun adversaries.

You all fall for it with your eyes widely sealed,

your ears not hearing the words I mutely revealed.

I easily dispense with those who are for justice,

before they betray my character: my cowardice.

I dismiss the moral for they may tarnish my veneer,

expose what I really am and my name they smear.

Because . . .

Beneath my infamous façade, I am a publicity whore,

I only please you with frivolity and nothing more.

When I’m in the spotlight, I smile to gain that publicity,

and behind the shadow of that light, I just care about me.

Wednesday, 14th March 2012