Old money millionaires are finished burning their world.
We rule like kings crushing rhinestones.
“The Nouveau Riche? ha!
“They failed, they lost, they fell from the stars they filled their dreamy heads with.”
“There is no chance they will ever succeed”
I refuse to believe the people around me, telling me that the truth is
Dominating.
We are the only ones who remain
“The Nouveau Riche forget their place
We are old money and we are tightly wound around the frame of Success”
It is a false statement spewed from the mouths of lying serpents:
To think that the newbies have any place in this world.
It takes true courage and resilience
To fight among jesters to find a spot in the court of fame
It is torture
But it is reality.
The young are often forgotten and disposed of.
I abhor the smiles they offer us:
Sneaking their way to our table.
I often spot unwelcome guests who once taunted me
“You’ll never drag me off this set of tracks”.
It was defense,
To them,
It was a lie to encourage self preservation.
“You are nothing”.