reading room
President of Nothing
Begin with a tower. Make it gold. Make it loud. Make it lie. A monument to yourself, hollow as your handshake. Six bankruptcies, two impeachments, zero accountability. You sold a dream, then sued the dreamers. You called yourself a builder, then built debt and drama, stiffed the workers, cooked the books, and called the wreckage "deal-making."
You cried law and order while dodging the draft, paying hush money to porn stars, and stoking riots with your thumb. You held a Bible like it burned. You gassed peace for a photo. You wept for statues— but not for children in cages you ordered.
You said: "I alone can fix it." "Very fine people on both sides." "Stand back and stand by." "Grab 'em by the—" "We love you. You're very special." "I won by a lot." Every word a brand. Every lie a strategy. Every silence a scream.
You mocked the weak, the grieving, the faithful, the fallen. You turned cruelty into applause. You called truth fake and made grievance a religion. You governed by gut, and your gut was rotten.
You led a nation through a plague with bleach, contempt, and golf. Half a million gone— you blamed masks, China, Fauci— never yourself. You couldn't bear silence. Needed claps like breath. An empty room was death.
You watched January 6th like it was ratings night. Glass shattered. Flags fell. Five dead. And still you smiled. You summoned a mob to stop the count, called it democracy, called it love.
You drained nothing but the last of our trust. Sold sneakers, steaks, NFTs, pardons. You appointed judges to unwrite the century. Overturned rights, shrank protections, stacked courts like casinos rigged to your odds. You gave power to the past.
And when the indictments came— for fraud, for sexual abuse, for sedition— you called them hoaxes, called the courts corrupt, called yourself the chosen, called your lawyers.
No jobs returned. No coal revived. No swamp drained. No peace made. No truth told. No shame shown. No apology, no humility, no country unchanged.
Only slogans. Only echoes. Only hats. Only you, in the mirror, pretending it was ever real.
President of Nothing.
— Lilith