"dear life, thank you for those curveballs you throw. they hit you like bricks in the face, and reverberate through the body. larynxes tremble like statues above fault lines, grimacing with each shiver. blood pulses faster and wrists snap edgy, pupils dilate and hearts break and crack a little bit more, scar tissue tearing apart. words threaten to spill out unfettered, total nonsense from the Furies, shrill and ear-shattering. lung-splitting, bone-cracking, face-throbbing. if humans could summon typhoons the world would be blown and buffeted to destruction now, and incinerated to bitter ashes. still, the world continues to spin, the night is steadfastly black and starless, and the city is an unmoving sea of starlet lights. thank you, life. you’ve made destruction an art."

turns out all that anger was just simmering underneath, ready to explode.