Description

This book is a collection of pieces that I wrote in my humble abode when I felt entirely trapped in a dense forest of hopelessness and guilt. It was an intense period of self-loathe and dejection as I witnessed my feelings and my morals battle each other worthlessly.

For me, the world carried on; the seasons changed; I grew up, but the inner turmoil still continued to lure me in, in its strong and merciless whirlpool of anguish and dolour. So, I did what I knew best – I wrote. I wrote and wrote and wrote. I wrote until I couldn’t find a single bone of creativity left in me. I wrote until I grew fed up of writing about him. I wrote until I found it easy not to paint him in my favour.

It was knackering, and a prolonged journey of uncoiling the intricate heartache of mine from the bits and pieces of me that was determined to heal and reconcile with the goodness I always let myself be defined with. I’m proud to say I chose what’s right in a state of great temptation from the evil.