30/04/2026
SIRENS IN THE DARK
They don’t knock —
they kick truth down your door
with boots heavy from borrowed power,
faces hidden behind anger
they never learned to control.
Your cr!me?
Being young.
Breathing too freely.
Holding a phone like evidence of ambition.
They say “cooperate,”
but their gu!ns already made the decision.
Hands up —
still not enough.
Voice calm —
still too loud for them.
Your heartbeat becomes a suspect,
your silence becomes resistance.
They drag dignity across asphalt,
strip dreams under flickering streetlights,
turn hope into something that begs.
And somewhere,
a mother is dialing a number
that will never answer again.
No badge should feel like a threat,
but here, uniforms hunt like hunger.
Not for justice —
but for control,
for fear,
for the fragile ego of men
who mistake authority for worth.
Blo@d doesn’t make headlines here,
it stains quietly,
washed away before morning traffic,
before anyone important has to look down.
You learn quickly:
your future must walk on eggshells,
your voice must whisper inside your own chest,
your existence must apologize
for existing.
And when they say
“we are here to protect you,”
you swallow the bitter truth —
because laughter might get you ki11ed.
This is not policing.
This is a slow w@r
against the very breath of youth.
And the saddest part?
The siren doesn’t mean help.
It means run.
