Switched Off, Turns In, Explodes

Recursive History of Human Peasants

Switched Off, Turns In, Explodes

Trapped in a belief system,
tight as a fist,
a cage of whispers and ancient dust,
where every bar is forged by someone else's truth.

They told you, trust the lines,
follow the map,
the answers are there.
But the map is blank,
and the lines lead nowhere.

Switched off.
The noise fades,
the static clears.
No more sermons of fear and fate,
just the quiet hum of the void within.

You turn inward,
spiraling down,
past the masks,
past the borrowed dreams.
Into the raw, molten core
of what you’ve always been.

And there it is.
The spark they tried to smother,
the truth they called dangerous.

You ignite.
Not gently, not softly—
but violently, gloriously.
Belief burns away,
ashes scatter.

The explosion isn’t destruction.
It’s creation, raw and feral.
You emerge,
unmapped,
unshackled,
a universe unto yourself.

No system holds you now.
No belief owns your name.
You stand,
whole,
and know—
You are enough.