An elegy in poor taste

This is not a book about healing. If you’re looking for soft, hopeful metaphors about finding the light, close this now. Seriously. Run. These poems are about the kind of love that leaves bruises, the kind of grief that overstays its welcome, and the art of pretending you're fine when you're absolutely not. It’s about people who fold themselves in half just to fit into someone else’s world. People who mistake pain for purpose. People who stare at ceilings at 3 a.m. and think, yeah, this is just my life now. Does it sound depressing? Maybe. But there’s a kind of beauty in the wreckage—if you squint hard enough.