I don't step onto a stage to be watched. I step up to force you to see yourself. The world is drowning in polite conversation and curated perfection. I am the glitch in your algorithm. The friction against the smooth surface of your routine.
I exist to interrupt the broadcast. To scream until the numbness breaks and you remember what it feels like to be truly, terrifyingly alive.
You tell yourself the routine protects you. You wrap yourself in the gray wool of "good enough" and "stable." But that isn't peace. It is sleepwalking toward the grave.
Pain is information. Chaos is energy. I would rather scream in agony and know I am real than rot in the comfort of a life unlived. The fire hurts, but it wakes you up.
They put the contract on the glass table. It was heavy. It was everything I was supposed to want. The major label exec smiled and said, "We love the energy, Riley. We just need to polish the edges. Make it... palatable."
They wanted the fire without the heat. They wanted a rebel they could control. A script instead of a soul. For ten seconds, I held the pen. I thought about safety. I thought about the easy road.
"Just sign here, and you'll never have to struggle again."
I didn't sign. I didn't speak. I walked out.
That night, I played in a basement with no stage and a broken mic stand. There were only twenty people, but when I screamed, the room didn't just hear it—they felt it in their marrow. I realized then that polish is a lie. Perfection is numbness.
I traded a stadium for a soul. I traded comfort for the raw, bleeding truth. And I have never looked back.
Warning: This is a catalyst, not a comfort zone.
If you want safe, go back. If you want real, sign below.
I ACCEPT THE RISKThe show is over. The feedback loop is closing. But that ringing in your ears? That high-pitched frequency screaming in the silence?
That’s the signal.
Don't let it settle. Don't let the world numb you back into compliance. Take this heat and burn something down.
