I’m not your friend, my friend

I am not your friend, my friend. I see the grease on your hands, dark with the blood of the streets, palms cracked from gripping lies too tight. I am not your ally, chief. Your promises rot in the dirt, buried beneath broken bricks, dreams crushed by the weight of your schemes. You preach of unity, of justice, of peace, but your words dance like thieves in the dark. You feast on the future you stole, your belly full while hope withers. I am not your comrade, boss. You take, you hoard, you vanish. We scrape the bottom of empty coffers while you fly first class to nowhere. You sip champagne; we swallow dust. Your pockets swell; our cupboards empty. Factories shut, classrooms hollow, but your laughter still cuts like a blade. I am not fooled by your anthems and creeds. The people march, the people bleed. But rage takes root in dry ground, and no flood can drown what is coming. So hear me now, tyrant your time is running thin. No throne stands when truth takes flame, and the night ahead will not be kind. I am not your friend, my friend. I am the storm you cannot stop.