They move in the shadows, wrapped in authority, 
their uniforms a disguise for something darker. 
A badge and a gun, symbols of trust twisted into weapons. 
On paper, they protect and serve; in reality, they haunt and harm. 

Power courses through their veins, 
but it’s not the kind that uplifts or safeguards. 
It’s a corrosive kind, the kind that feeds on fear, 
the kind that turns innocence into prey. 

On the streets, they’re hunters, 
eyes scanning for someone to corner, to crush. 
False evidence is their craft, lies their currency. 
They prey on the vulnerable, pushing them into shadows. 

The weak, the forgotten, the ones who can’t fight back,
they bear the brunt of this corrupted force. 
Bribes line their pockets, alliances with criminals keep them untouchable. 
Justice isn’t blind here, it’s gagged and bound. 

Protests ignite, voices rise, demanding change. 
But the response? Tear gas. Batons. Intimidation. 
They smother dissent, silence the brave. 
Their version of order is built on control, not fairness. 

Yet, amidst the suffocating darkness, 
there’s a pulse, a defiance, a refusal to submit. 
The people are waking up, shedding their fear, 
realizing the strength in their numbers, their voices. 

For every tear shed, every injustice endured, 
a reckoning grows closer. 
Their power is borrowed, fleeting. 
The truth is louder. Justice is inevitable. 

And to those cloaked in uniforms, wielding corruption,
your time is running out. 

@okelododdychitchats