If you were a colour you’d be red, blood on the dollar, the lies you’re fed. Sweet on the tongue but it rots your head, a circus of corpses, and you’re the bread. Red like clearance tags that drip from the seams, stitched with the organs of somebody’s dreams. A kid breaks fingers so you look fresh, that chain round your neck? Yeah, it carved his flesh. Red in the sirens when the cops roll by, knees on a neck, now another kid dies. Cameras flash, but the truth gets blurred, the verdict is silence, no justice served. Red in the lipstick on a senator’s glass, preaching about morals while buying some ass. They legislate hate with a grin on their face, but hide their own sins in a private space. Red in the fields where the migrants sweat, picking your fruit while they drown in debt. Your table is dressed with their broken backs, a feast of oppression wrapped up in snacks. Red in the oceans, oil leaks wide, plastic confetti where the fish once hide. You toast with a straw while the corals choke, profit lit the match, now the planet smokes. Red in the pills that they sell for pain, hook you on relief, then they drain your veins. Addicts in alleys are blamed for their fall, but dealers wear ties in the corporate hall. Red in the church where the choir sings, but the altar’s a grave for the children’s wings. Confess to a man who’s dressed in white, while he preys on the lost in the dark of night. Red in the borders, the walls we build, families split and the cages filled. We wave our flags while their hope turns dust, justice is dead, but in greed we trust. Blood on the barcode, red in the glow, you wear what you kill but pretend not to know. This system is painted, corrupted, and bled— If you were a colour, you’d always be red.