Shadows And Midnight Screams by Samira Wyld Podcast

I call this a vignette. Or maybe just snapshots of memory—fragmented moments. Separate events that loop back on themselves, blurring together as though they were one.They loop, they collide, they bleed into each other—until you’re not sure what happened when, only that it did.These are small, fractured piecesof a much greater story—but one that’s best told in splinters.Written, composed, and performed by © Samira Wyld 2025 A Wyld and Untamed Production 2025If you’d like to support my work, you can donate… or just buy me a coffee. 💋 This is a public episode. If you'd like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit samirawyld.substack.com/subscribe

I think I died. Not in the tragic way. Not with sirens or screams. Just... quietly.For anyone who’s ever felt like they woke up in the wrong skin. Between Worlds is a spoken monologue from the fracture point—where memory blurs, and nothing feels real anymore.Written, composed, and performed by © Samira Wyld 2025 A Wyld and Untamed Production 2025If you'd like to support my work, or buy me a coffee ☕️ This is a public episode. If you'd like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit samirawyld.substack.com/subscribe

The ocean and all its moodsIs solace grantedWhether it’s the stormIn the roughOr the calm glassy sheen of everything in betweenIt’s never too muchAnd it’s never enough©️ Samira WyldMusic: https://open.spotify.com/track/7IB97tv4w7Gipw8sfRor7r?si=j8QFaWc9QQOhYbwne2t_4w This is a public episode. If you'd like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit samirawyld.substack.com/subscribe

'He taught me silence. I taught him noise.'Written, composed, and performed by © Samira Wyld 2025 A Wyld and Untamed Production 2025If you’d like to support what I do—or just buy me a coffee ☕️ This is a public episode. If you'd like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit samirawyld.substack.com/subscribe

Born of dread
. Born from the undead. 
Born to a life that was never lived
. But carried by assault instead.Written, composed, and performed by © Samira Wyld 2025 A Wyld and Untamed Production 2025If you'd like to support my work, or buy me a coffee ☕️ This is a public episode. If you'd like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit samirawyld.substack.com/subscribe

A story about grit, rage, resistance, and pain dragged to the edge.Written, composed, and performed © Samira Wyld 2025 A Wyld and Untamed Production 2025 This is a public episode. If you'd like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit samirawyld.substack.com/subscribe

A poem for the one who were never invited.Written, composed, and performed by © Samira Wyld 2024Backing track © Samira Wyld, Iain’s Song (Lovers Mix)https://open.spotify.com/track/7FtnxdUnBWbHnYYI7dATM3?si=cf02fb0112b449b0A Wyld and Untamed Production 2024 This is a public episode. If you'd like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit samirawyld.substack.com/subscribe

A red dress. A loaded gun. A name she never got to whisper. This time, she’s not asking to live—she’s refusing to die.Written, composed, and performed by © Samira Wyld 2025. A Wyld and Untamed Production 2025 This is a public episode. If you'd like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit samirawyld.substack.com/subscribe

A fractured story. A haunting voice. A girl caught between bleeding and becoming.Written, composed, and performed by © Samira Wyld 2025.A Wyld and Untamed Production 2025 This is a public episode. If you'd like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit samirawyld.substack.com/subscribe

if I were softer if I were quieter if I had twisted myself into a shape you could stand to look at, would that have been enough?🎧 Would really appreciate your feedbackWritten, composed, and performed by © Samira Wyld 2025. A Wyld and Untamed Production 2025Subscribe for free to receive new posts and support my work. This is a public episode. If you'd like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit samirawyld.substack.com/subscribe

I've died eight times already. 
Once by fire. 
Once by betrayal.
 Once on the temple floor—his scent still on my skin.Nine Lives. The final life.
 Or maybe just the most dangerous.Written, composed, and performed by © Samira Wyld 2025.Featuring lyrics © Samira Wyld, from the single Closer.🔗 https://open.spotify.com/track/5uw73rD2u61XlSL3XF7VCv?si=e871797449b14289A Wyld and Untamed Production 2025Subscribe for free to receive new posts and support my work. This is a public episode. If you'd like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit samirawyld.substack.com/subscribe

There’s a story in every shadow, and a truth in every light. This is where my world begins. This is a public episode. If you'd like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit samirawyld.substack.com/subscribe

Everywhere I look online, someone is furious.Not passionate. Not purposeful. Just loud. Just angry.Outrage echoing through timelines like background noise,scroll after scroll, thread after thread, post after post.It’s not activism. It’s performance.And I’ve been watching it all... unravel.The volume never comes down. It's always all-or-nothing, black-or-white, scream-or-be-destroyed. There’s no middle ground anymore. No space for stillness, for curiosity, for compassion. Just rage.And not the kind that fuels revolutions. Not the kind that builds movements. The kind that eats people alive.I’ve been watching. Listening. Sitting with the noise.There’s a rhythm to it now—the rage. It pulses through timelines like a drumbeat, always in tempo, always just beneath the surface. Doesn’t matter the hour or the subject. Someone, somewhere, is always screaming.And lately, it’s been harder to look away.Maybe it’s because the real world’s been chaos. Not just out there, but right here, in my own space. Flooded cupboards, broken roofs, a city soaked in silence after the cyclone. When everything inside you feels like it's splintering, you look outward hoping to find stillness. Hope to see proof that humanity still remembers how to breathe.But instead, I log in and find wildfire.Posts dripping with venom. Threads where disagreement is treated like betrayal. People waking up angry. Going to sleep angry. Performing their rage like it’s the only way to feel alive. And it is a performance—let’s not pretend otherwise. It’s a daily ritual. A curated identity.Rage as virtue.Anger as moral currency.And if you try to offer a different perspective? They block you. Not because you were cruel, or loud—just because you disagreed. This isn’t activism. This is a cult. And ‘wokeness’, is fast becoming a mental illness.What I see now—everywhere—is a kind of collective sickness. Performative outrage. Manufactured offence. People performing their hate for likes, retweets, and the illusion of belonging. The more you shout, the more visible you become. But visibility is not clarity. And rage is not truth.We’ve replaced thought with fury. Reflection with reaction.We’ve confused anger for activism.We’ve confused cruelty for courage.We’ve confused volume for value.And I can’t help but wonder... is this still about the cause? Or have we all become addicted to the chaos?Because here’s what I see: People feeding the beast, over and over again, until the beast becomes them.There’s a particular kind of sickness growing in these online spaces. Not loud, not sudden. Creeping. Viral. It looks like activism, but it smells like decay. It masquerades as justice, but it’s laced with obsession.When every post becomes a weapon, every comment a battleground—what are we actually fighting for? Who are we really defending?There’s a difference between anger as a catalyst... and anger as a costume. Between speaking truth to power, and shouting into the void because it gives you purpose.And I say this with love: if you wake up every day looking for something to hate, something to cancel, someone to call out—maybe it’s not the world that’s broken. Maybe it’s something inside you that’s splintering.Because you are what you feed. And if you feed on hate long enough, you will forget how to digest anything else.I have watched people become addicted to their own rage. Obsessed with the theatre of opposition.Angry at everything.Furious at nothing.Searching for a new target the moment the last one loses its heat. And what terrifies me most is this: many of them don’t even know they’re doing it.They think they’re awake. But really, they’re just loud.I’ve watched people I respect fall into that loop. Post after post. Rant after rant. Every day, another headline, another insult, another enemy. It becomes... ritual.A rhythm.One that starts to define you.And what scares me most is not the content—it’s the energy. The hunger.The way some people look like they need the hate to keep going. Like it’s the only thing that makes them feel powerful.That’s not political discourse. That’s not activism. That’s spiritual malnourishment.You cannot scream your way to peace.You cannot block your way to truth.And you cannot claim to fight for justice while celebrating cruelty.I used to think stepping back meant weakness. That silence meant complicity. But now I know: silence can be sanctuary. Space can be resistance. And not everything requires your reaction.I’ve stepped back. I had to. For my mind. For my aRt. For my peace. Because I don’t want to become what I hate.I said I wanted connection. And I did. I do. But lately, I’ve felt a shift. A pause. A weight in my gut that won’t lift.Because I saw something I didn’t want to see. And once you see it, you cannot unsee it.People I care about deeply are feeding the beast. Not in a burst of frustration—but daily. Willingly. Joyfully.And I realised... I can’t stand that close to the fire without being burned.I can disagree. I can debate. I can hold space for different views. But I can’t hold space for hatred masked as virtue.Not anymore.Thanks for reading Shadows And Midnight Screams by Samira Wyld! Subscribe for free to receive new posts and support my work.If you’ve been feeling this too—this sickness in the collective air—know that you’re not alone. You’re not crazy for needing quiet. You’re not wrong for wanting softness in a world that only rewards extremes.Maybe you’ve been torn apart just for disagreeing gently. Maybe you’ve been labelled just for pausing to ask a question. Maybe, like me, you’re exhausted.This post isn’t a solution. It’s a breath. It’s a hand on your back saying: you’re not the only one who sees it.This isn’t a callout. This isn’t a fight. This is a whisper in the dark:You don’t have to be this angry. You don’t have to burn everything down to feel seen.There is still space for calm. For breath. For nuance.You are allowed to think twice.You are allowed to change your mind.You are allowed to not engage.And if no one else says it—I will: I see you.Not the performance. Not the rage. YOU.Choose breath over battle.Choose clarity over chaos.Choose yourself.You are more than your anger. But only if you want to be.🖤 S xoThanks for reading Shadows And Midnight Screams by Samira Wyld! This post is public so feel free to share it. This is a public episode. If you'd like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit samirawyld.substack.com/subscribe

Strangers don’t owe you anything—and maybe that’s why they feel safer. Maybe that’s why they never hurt you the way the ones who claim to love you do.I like strangers.Because we haven’t met yet.Because they listen with curiosity, not obligation.Because they don’t ask how you are just to disappear.Because they don’t pretend to care when silence was always their plan.I like strangers.Over friends, over family, over people.Because they acknowledge your thoughts, your feelings,not as an afterthought, not as a chore.Because they don’t come with history,or expectation,or the kind of love that forgets you exist.Yes, I like strangers.Because they haven’t learned to leave yet.©️ Samira Wyld 2025From my upcoming collection, A Wyld Love Note.Thanks for reading Shadows And Midnight Screams by Samira Wyld! Subscribe for free to receive new posts and support my work. This is a public episode. If you'd like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit samirawyld.substack.com/subscribe

The TorRentMy heart is a whisper in the wind.Everything is cold, wet, and damp,the air seeping into my hair, my skin.Wondering, thinking—where do I begin?I want to sing a sad song,so sad it drowns the world in tears.Then I’ll hum, just hum,and never speak again.And in the quiet,I will softly say goodbye.©️ Samira Wyld 2025From my upcoming collection, A Wyld Love Note.Thanks for reading Shadows And Midnight Screams by Samira Wyld! Subscribe for free to receive new posts and support my work. This is a public episode. If you'd like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit samirawyld.substack.com/subscribe