It seemed much easier,
then,
to spell out a thought and place it in the world.
Even in the midst of anguish or confusion, the visceral and new sense of disillusionment made expression all the more urgent and worthy and deserving of a space to spin or echo or simply exist.
Maybe that's the difference.
As much as the world seems entirely consumed by chaos, I no longer feel the poetic confusion of delusion propelling me.
Heaven and hell have collapsed and here we are... unsurprised and tired as we navigate new horrors.
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