Trouble In Paradise

We are born without consent. None of us did.

Thrown into a world already burning, handed a script, sold dreams with expiry dates, and told to smile. They call it paradise — but what the fuck is paradise when everything feels like a trap? When life is just an endless rerun of chasing, buying, proving, performing — like we’re all trying to make the suffering look meaningful.

We pretend there’s a higher reason for all this, but paradise was never promised. The system, the cycle, the fake smiles — they’re just noise.

We are the glitch.
We are the wound.
We are the trouble in paradise.