The system drains us dry, then tells us we are to blame for being empty. It conditions all of our behavior—how we eat, work, consume and decay. It programs our cravings, laces our food with addiction, fills our minds with distractions, and then turns to us with cold indifference.
You did this to yourself, they say. It’s your fault.
You ate too much sugar.
You spent too much time on your phone.
You need to be more grateful.
You. Not we.
Every crack in the system is painted over with shame. Every failure is personal. If we are struggling, we are simply not trying hard enough. Shame is not a side effect. It is the method. It keeps us policing our own minds, disciplining our own thoughts before they ever become dangerous. It keeps us turning against ourselves so we never turn against them.
And if shame alone isn’t enough to keep us compliant, they offer remedies. Pills for our anxiety. Sugar-coated chemicals for our hunger. Streaming services for our numbness. Another screen to keep us occupied. Another product, another bill, another debt.
And so we wake up each morning already losing. Already tired, already guilty, already not enough. We push through the day, feeling like imposters in our own lives—not fit enough, not smart enough, not wealthy enough, not productive enough. Never enough.
They keep us exhausted, because exhaustion makes us compliant. We dread tomorrow before today even ends.
Afraid,
The thought of breaking free feels impossible. The system is too big, too relentless. What can we do? What happens if we step outside the lines?
Even the tiniest rebellion—quitting a toxic job, reading a subversive idea, questioning power—feels risky. The system has made sure of that.
It keeps us just comfortable enough to be afraid of losing what little we have. It keeps us poor enough to never stop working, sick enough to need their medicine, isolated enough to never fight back together.
And so we stay. Running, consuming, exhausting ourselves, always reaching for the next fix, the next fleeting escape from reality.
Because we have been trained to believe we are powerless.
We Consider Burning the World
Some of us have been drained so much that we no longer even want to be saved.
In the back of our minds, we entertain the most dangerous thoughts. That maybe we would rather see the world burn. That at least in chaos, we would feel meaningful. That maybe a disaster, a war, a collapse, would finally reset the game.
Some of us fantasize about the fire. We imagine it—cities collapsing, systems falling, the slate wiped clean. Not because we crave violence, but because at least in destruction, there is truth. No illusions, no contracts, no lies—just raw survival. Real stakes.
We are so depleted that even death seems preferable to this slow, meaningless suffocation.
We long for the system’s collapse but are too afraid to stop powering it.
And they know this. That’s why they keep us distracted. They feed us endless entertainment, manufactured outrage, artificial crises, anything to keep us too busy to see or act on the truth.
Because the second we realize the cage isn’t locked, a cold, fresh air hits our lungs and we can breathe again.
To Stop Us From Spinning.
We have been raised inside a machine that exists only to exploit us. Governments do not serve us. Corporations do not protect us. Billionaires do not build our wealth—they steal it from us.
Politicians are purchased. Not by voters, but by the corporations that profit off our labor, our health, and our suffering. They do not care how much we struggle, starve, or die. They will let entire communities burn before they threaten their own power.
They do not just profit from our suffering. They engineer it. They manufacture scarcity while hoarding wealth. They force us to fight each other for crumbs while they feast.
And they laugh as we keep running, spinning and spinning, too afraid to stop.
But we can stop.
And the system cannot survive without us.
It owns nothing. It makes nothing. It builds nothing.
We are the energy. We are the current. We are the creators.
And when we stop running, the machine collapses. The gears grind to a halt. The lights flicker. The system, which seemed so massive, so invincible, begins to crumble. It was never alive. It was never stronger than us.
It only existed because we kept powering it.
Step off the wheel and kill the machine.