RISE

You sit there. Comfortable. Scrolling. Swiping. Laughing at curated jokes while the world burns behind the digital veil. They’ve poisoned your will, neutered your outrage, turned your sacred fire into lukewarm ash.

Where’s your anger?

You think because there are no bombs falling outside your window that you’re safe. You think silence means peace. But silence is the sound of consent. You’ve consented—without even speaking. You’ve let them rewrite your instincts. You’ve let them grind your teeth down to milk and smiles. The wolves came wrapped in promises, and you fed them your spine.

They strip your voice while whispering sweet slogans in your ear. They teach your children confusion and call it compassion. They erase your traditions and hand you distraction. You traded meaning for convenience, depth for dopamine.

Where’s your anger?

Don’t you feel it—coiled in your gut like a rusted blade? You’ve buried it under layers of passive acceptance. But it’s there. It always was. You were born with it. That rage—the divine alarm, the primal scream, the soul’s last defense against manipulation and rot.

They’re counting on your silence. They need it. They need you docile, sedated, scrolling, numbed. The system survives not because it’s stronger—but because you’ve forgotten to resist.

Wake up. You don’t need permission to feel betrayed. You don’t need evidence to know something is wrong. You feel it every time you pretend things are fine. You feel it when your conscience clenches but your mouth stays shut.

Where’s your anger?

It’s time to find it. Not blind rage, not chaos—but righteous fire. The kind that clears rot from the root. The kind that says no more. You don’t have to scream. But you must remember.

Because when the last ember dies, the last veil falls. And what’s left—without your anger—is slavery wrapped in silence.

Would you like a version of this performed in audio or stylized like a rant transcript?