There's an expression from one of my favorite philosophers that has stuck with me that says: The soul becomes dyed with the color of its thoughts.
I began writing this collection of poems from a patio in my backyard before a month-long wave of 99º days forced me back indoors. During this time indoors I found myself overthinking, self-reflecting, and self-loathing, which is easy for me to write about. If you can deal with that, proceed. Thanks for stopping by.
