“Everything Rotting "
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Look at us.
No—really look.
We didn’t fall.
We chose to rot.
Trade was supposed to keep us alive,
but now it feeds on us—
like a disease we refuse to cure.
We sell things.
Then we sold time.
Then trust.
And now—
we auction emotions like cheap flesh.
Love is negotiated.
Loyalty expires.
Pain is performed
for an audience that calls it “real.”
Even the dead aren’t left alone—
their silence is exploited,
their memories squeezed
until nothing human is left.
And we watch.
We scroll.
We consume.
Tell me—
what kind of monsters
look into innocent eyes
and still decide:
“yes… this can be used”?
We don’t even flinch anymore.
Idols?
They’re not gods—
they’re brands.
Selling dreams stitched with lies,
pricing emotions so high
that only the privileged can pretend to feel them.
Art is no longer art—
it’s a receipt.
And you?
You either pay…
or you don’t belong.
Everything is for sale—
your voice,
your truth,
your breaking point.
Nothing is sacred.
Not even the parts of you
that once begged to stay pure.
This world isn’t living—
it’s feeding.
On innocence.
On desperation.
On anything that still dares to feel.
And the worst part?
We know.
We see it.
We hate it.
And still—
we become it.
By ~𝓳𝓲𝓪
𝓙