foreword

through feathered pens inked with blood and a scarred soul of overflowing abysmal ideologies; there sits an obscured entity, scribbling metaphors and ironies in a crumpled paper of her chaos, seeking for something out of all nothings.

and here she unfolds her infinitesimal philosophies piece by piece. when no one wants to hear such words of havoc, let the little one who's in need of her chaos be whispered by her written silence.

graveyard of buried souls | 2020
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