A Crimson Republic

A girl walks home through a siren light.A child crouched in fear behind a desk.A mother’s scream—too young, unheard.The earth coughs black smoke from her chest.

Young hands ink ballots with trembling rage,Their futures written, burned, erased.Truth was a spark—they snuffed it out,Left it choking in the smoke it made.

A woman’s voice too fierce to crown,So we dressed hate in suits again.The ballot box became a tomb,For reasons buried deep within.

The Carolinas pulse, Ohio’s failing breath,Arizona burns beneath the sun.Texas's dry throat cracks in dust,And Maine forgets what’s just begun.

Votes drip slow like plasma through a vein,Screens flicker white like morgue lights’ glare.The heartland hemorrhages scarlet pride,And no one moves, just stares, just stares.

This year, the heat came far too soon,Ash fell soft as first December snow.The sky still bruised from oil’s breath,We trade tomorrow for what we know.

The numbers twitch—mechanical, cold—Each digit carving beneath fingers.The same dull ache from years before,The promise drowned, the light did not linger.

It’s hard to tell the rot from root,But every life deserves its flame.A promise scrawled in ancient ink,Now faded, trembling, half in shame.

They said we’re free—what a cruel disguise.If it’s not your blood, you never care.This dream of stars has teeth and claws.We sleep inside its open snare.

A country blue, split open, bleeding redCrimson rivers run through her spine.We watch the wound fester, breath held tight,As freedom coughs out her final line.

A country blue, split open, bleeding redCracks widening beneath the sun.History stares through shattered glass:America weeps behind the gun.