Grief, in these pages, is not a guest—it is the architect.
Every stanza here was born of unraveling: the slow erosion of identity in the name of endurance.
These poems are not interested in redemption arcs or closure.
They are interested in presence—in staying with the ache long enough to name it.
This book is not an escape.
It is a mirror for the emotionally fluent and the dangerously self-aware.
Read it if you’re ready to stop lying to yourself.
