Some nights, I think heaven isn’t clouds and harps. It’s a grainy CCTV feed from above. God’s dashcam. The angels aren’t singing — they’re taking notes. Subject failed mercy. Again.

I keep typing it into the search bar like it’s a prayer. heavenpov brutal — no autocorrect, no spaces, no shame.

Here’s a blog post draft based on the title . It’s written in a raw, first-person, confessional style — part journal entry, part internet-poetry. Title: heavenpov brutal

From that angle, the brutality is the point. You see your own life like a stranger’s car crash. You slow down, but you don’t stop.

— exit, stage left, into the static