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I’m not here to hold your hand or tell you it’s all okay. Life isn’t sunshine and butterflies—it’s chaos wrapped in silence, screaming for release. I write what others fear to think: raw, jagged truths that cut through pretense like shattered glass.

Words are curses here—etched in shadows, soaked in venom. They twist, they burn, they haunt . This isn’t art; it’s a reckoning. A descent into the parts of yourself you buried long ago.

Come if you dare. Leave if you can.