No Ones Hands Are Clean

They point fingers like bayonets, Left, right. Two sides of the same sharpened coin, Flipping through headlines soaked in blood.

They scream It’s them, it's us, it's you But never it's me Never It's we Never It's all of us drowning in this mess

I’m sick of the blame game, The polished podium lies, The crocodile tears on camera While bodies pile behind the scenes.

You talk policy, I talk pain You talk strategy, I talk names Of the ones who never made it home, Of the ones who never got a vote In the war waged in their name.

Left says Justice Right says Order But justice without truth is a weapon, And order without empathy is a cage.

You want to debate? Fine. But don’t pretend your side’s halo isn’t cracked. Don’t pretend your hands aren’t red From the bills you passed, The bombs you blessed, The silence you sold as strength.

This isn’t politics. This is theater. And the stage is soaked. And the audience is dying.

So I rage.

Not because I hate you But because I hate what you’ve made of us. I rage because blood doesn’t care If it’s spilled by a liberal or a conservative. It just stains. It just screams. And I’m done whispering

Bf (OC)

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