The Soul Was Forgotten Centuries Ago
The Soul Was Forgotten Centuries Ago
by Delahrose
Let’s not pretend.
Let’s not hold hands and hum mantras while the world burns.
Let’s not sugar-coat a system that’s rotted to its core.
Because I’ve seen it.
I’ve lived it.
And I’m done pretending it’s anything less than a disgrace.
Every system we were taught to trust
our courts, our laws, our currencies, our contracts
All lies.
Constructs are built not to protect but to perform.
To keep the illusion tidy.
To keep the powerful playing.
To keep the voiceless compliant, afraid, and ashamed.
The legal system isn’t justice.
It’s theatre in robes.
The financial system isn’t security.
It’s a casino for the few.
Housing isn’t shelter.
It’s a racket. A leash. A debt trap.
Even our conversations aren’t honest
Veneer over venom, smiles, hiding swords.
We call ourselves civilised, evolved, advanced.
But at what cost?
At whose expense?
Because I’ve watched people claim compassion
only until it costs them something.
I’ve watched them disappear the moment you’re marked,
The moment you’re burning.
They say they care—until you’re inconvenient.
Then you become a ghost.
A burden. A liability.
This isn’t bitterness.
This is experience.
This is the knowing of one who has
Stood in the fire while others looked away.
Not once.
But over and over again.
And now the world comes to its knees
Not because it was cursed,
But because it refused to feel.
Because it fed the machine,
played the game,
and sold its soul for spectacle.
This collapse?
It’s not punishment.
It’s the harvest of collective amnesia.
The soul was forgotten centuries ago
Traded for applause, influence, and comfort.
But some of us remembered.
And we’re not here to fix the system.
We’re here to witness its fall.
To stand in what’s real.
To seed the soil again.
Because while the world played along,
We were learning the song of what endures.
And now,
We see it
The Pimple, the Pressure, and the Mexican Stand-off
Rising into view like a long-denied reckoning.
It was always coming.
The illusion could only stretch so far before it split.
The theatre could only run so long before the curtain fell.
Now, the pressure that’s been building beneath every false promise,
every hollow law,
every bought politician and backroom deal
Is breaking the surface.
This isn’t sudden.
It’s been swelling for decades.
And now the bubble pulses.
The tension spikes.
The room is still.
Everyone senses it
But only a few have the nerve to name it.
This isn’t a negotiation anymore.
This is the stand-off.
The final stare-down between truth and delusion.
Between those who built from the soul
And those who stole to win.
There’s a moment before a bubble bursts
Where the silence is so thick it sticks to your skin.
A humming tension, a shimmering film of lies
Stretched thin over rot.
Everyone feels it.
No one says it.
Until something snaps.
And in that rupture, truth hisses out like gas
From a long-forgotten wound.
You’d think I’d be afraid.
But I’m not.
Because I want to see it break.
I want the push of illusion to hit the mirror.
I want the gold-backed knife to cut the boil clean.
I want escalation—not for war,
but for revelation.
Because only pressure makes liars twitch.
Only force makes cowards choose.
This is no longer diplomacy.
This is a Mexican stand-off of frequency.
Each player is armed with tariffs, tech, and timing—
eyes locked, fingers twitching,
I'm waiting to see who dares fire first.
But here’s the thing:
The gun’s already gone off.
It just hasn’t reached your ears yet.
That 104%?
It’s not policy.
It’s a prophecy.
It’s the echo of a collapsing illusion
That sold cheap goods for sovereign blood.
Now, the pimple pops.
Now, the curtain tears.
Now, the theatre burns.
And when it does, I’ll be standing in the ash
Not to mourn but to plant.
Because I am not of the system.
I am of the soil.
I don’t fear endings.
I build from them.
So, let it escalate.
Let the stand-off freeze.
Let every player reveal their hand.
Because in this war of values,
Clarity always wins.
And when the pop comes,
not if, but when
It won’t be tidy.
But it will be true.
Delahrose Roobie Myer
