TRADE YOUR SOL

He sits in front of six monitors, but he’s not human anymore. His upper body is cracked stone, fissures running across his chest like red and green candlesticks. From the cracks, he’s breaking apart. Falling. Below his ribs there’s no torso — just glass. An hourglass. And the sand inside him is pouring down, grain by grain. The sand isn’t clean. It’s mixed with ticker symbols, dates, losses. Time and money slipping through the same narrow gap. Behind him, the charts are violent. Spiking, crashing, shattering the screens. Outside the window there’s only dark water, rising. Volatility. The market doesn’t sleep, and neither did he. Empty Red Bull cans litter the desk. Evidence of nights traded for 1-minute candles. His face is stone, eyes down. Not angry. Just tired. The look of someone who chased pumps, held dips, and told himself “just one more trade.” This is what happens when you trade your SOL. You don’t just risk your portfolio. You risk your time. Your body. Your peace. Until one day you realize you’re not trading the market. The market is trading you. And now you’re just sand in the glass.