This collection is not just about what happened. It is about what remains. These poems move through the after, after silence, after rupture, after the moments that should have been safe but weren't. They trace the strange mathematics of survival: how the mind learns to function while the body remembers everything, how language fractures when it is forced to carry what was never meant to be spoken. At its core, this is a study of contradiction. Love that wounds. Family that shapes and distorts in the same breath. Memory that arrives uninvited and leaves no clean edges behind. Each poem is a record of what it means to grow around pain rather than past it, how identity is often not discovered, but constructed from what was endured. There is no single narrative here, because trauma does not move in straight lines. It loops, repeats, interrupts, rewrites itself. These pages reflect that instability: fragmented voices, shifting perspectives, and moments where language itself struggles to stay intact. Yet beneath everything, beneath the anger, the numbness, the questions that have no resolution, there is endurance. Not the kind that looks like strength from the outside, but the quieter kind: the act of continuing, even when continuity feels impossible. This is not closure. It is witnessing. A record of what it means to survive something that never fully leaves, and to keep speaking anyway.

Raman Iyer thought a college event in Rome was just another trip. But the city hides secrets older than time itself. Drawn into an abandoned church, he falls 200 years into the past, where history twists, shadows whisper, and the world refuses to let him return. Some doors, once opened, can never be closed...

Un travail sur la schizophrénie