Generational Rot

We weren’t handed a legacy. We were handed a landfill.

Debt we didn’t accrue. Air we didn’t poison. Institutions we didn’t hollow out — all dropped in our laps with a smirk and a speech about hard work. This wasn’t an oversight. It was a handoff. A system designed to extract until the walls caved in, then blame the collapse on the ones who inherited the rubble.

They Called It a Gift

What they passed down wasn’t wisdom — it was the residue of denial.

They called it the American Dream. We call it adjustable-rate despair. They sold off the pensions, turned healthcare into roulette, and paved over community with asphalt and big box stores. When the consequences hit, they told us to bootstrap our way out of a crater they’d been digging for decades.

Debt as Design

We weren’t meant to thrive. We were meant to finance their comfort.

Every loan we take is a monument to their fiscal gluttony — student debt, medical debt, credit cards, payday traps. We bankroll their tax cuts and subsidize their nostalgia. They built a casino and handed us the bill.

Psychological Inheritance

What they called toughness was just unprocessed trauma.

They handed down silence like an heirloom — don’t talk back, don’t feel too much, don’t ask questions. Generations taught to suppress, then blamed us for not expressing. We were told we’re soft while digging through emotional ruins they never had the courage to face.

Institutional Shells

The churches are empty, but the shame remains. The schools teach compliance, not curiosity. The government is a trust-fund corpse — living off the illusion of credibility.

They didn’t forget to maintain these systems. They looted them, painted the husks, and framed it as order. Decay isn’t failure — it’s feature.

This Is Not a Rant

This is the autopsy report.

Rot doesn’t just happen. It’s curated. Sustained. Codified. Then disguised as culture.

The inheritance is not just broken. It was designed to break — as long as it didn’t break them.

Let the Silence End Here

We are not here to preserve the mausoleum. We are not grateful for the poison.

Let the rot die with them.

We are the cleanup crew with scalpels. What we were handed wasn’t heritage. It was a trap wrapped in ritual.

We cut it open. We name it. We refuse it.