They’ve made outrage a daily ritual. A flood of anger, perfectly portioned, delivered through screens, feeds, and headlines. Scandal after scandal. Crisis after crisis. It’s relentless, but never quite enough to push things to the brink. Just enough to keep the blood hot and the mind spinning.

Every morning starts the same. Open the screen, and there it is—the next thing to be furious about. A headline designed to cut deep, a post crafted to ignite, a video guaranteed to make the heart pound. It hooks me instantly. No time to pause, no time to think. Just anger. Sharp, immediate, consuming.

And so it goes. Hours lost to the endless scroll of fury. An ocean of posts, reactions, arguments. Faces I’ll never see again shouting into the void, each as exhausted as I am, each as trapped. All of us caught in the same loop, feeding the same machine. They want this. They need this.

Anger is easy. Anger is safe. It feels like doing something, when in reality, it’s the perfect distraction. A momentary firework show that leaves behind nothing but smoke. The energy burns out. The mind is drained. The day disappears. And what’s left? A sense of helplessness. Exhaustion. Powerlessness.

Somewhere, behind the screens, behind the noise, the real work is happening. The deals are being made, the policies are being shaped, the wealth is being shuffled around. The powerful move their pieces quietly while I rage, unaware of the game they’re playing. I’m too busy, too furious, too distracted to see it. They know that. They count on that.

It’s the perfect crime. They control the outrage, the pace, the conversation. They keep the anger simmering just below the surface, never boiling over. Everyone stays on edge, ready to snap, but never snapping. Because snapping means change. Snapping means breaking the cycle. And that’s the last thing they want.

In the end, I’m left staring at the screen, the fire gone cold, the day wasted. I’ve screamed into the void. The void screamed back. Nothing changed. Nothing ever changes. The cycle continues.

I know I’m being used, but knowing isn’t enough. The outrage still comes. The distraction still works. And while I’m lost in the noise, the world keeps slipping further away.