The State of Prerogative

Where the Laws Don't Live

Announce it as legal.
Describe it as tidy.
Whisper, “Just trust us.”
So we do. Nitwits, all.

One week, the law drowsed.
Next week, a gentle snooze.
Now? Full-on zombie.
Sporting a lopsided powdered wig.

Strongman wears a tie.
Gleams for friendly cameras.
Quotes the constitution—
Before setting it ablaze.

"Emergency," he muttered.
Eternal emergency, baby.
Cloudburst? Call out the troops!
Frantic bloggers? National catastrophe!

Balances? Checks?
Inordinately plodding.
Unduly whiny.
Just exorbitantly… too democratic.

Courts now rubber stamp.
Legislatures only a prop.
Journalists post obituaries—
Recalling press freedom. Not notable citizens.

Could call it reform.
More like dripping poison.
Still, tastes like patriotism.
And everybody loves a tart.

Citizens scroll. Ignore collapse around them.
Adoring TikToks. Disappearing civil rights.
Democracy perishes in DMs.
Gently smothered. Overwhelmed by cat videos.

Meanwhile, Leadership dances.
Waltzes with emergency potency.
Seduces the constitution.
Twirls the law.

Judges leer.
Lawyers clap.
Historians weep.
No one notices.

Folks ask, "Is this legal?"
The man grins.
"It is now."

The state emerges as - prerogative.
No more rule of law—
Decree of vibes. Statute of shrug.

In the end?

No gore. No tanks.
Just paperwork and silence.

The cabal built a cage.
Tinted it red, white, blue.
Re-christened it democracy.
Burped… and swallowed the key.