"I am not here to give you a neat little introduction-because nothing about me, or the stories I write, is neat, simple, or ordinary."

Let's be honest: I tried writing a normal bio once. It ran away, screaming.
So here I am, unapologetically messy, here to unfold, not to explain.
I bleed words into your hands-ink mixed with emotion, chaos, and caffeine. I want you to see me the way you see my characters: half fire, half silence; soft yet sharp; fragile but somehow unbreakable.

"I'm not just an author-I'm a collector of feelings people are too afraid to say out loud."

I hold on to pain until it turns poetic.
I twist love until it cuts and heals.
I take innocence, throw it into a battlefield, and whisper, "Good luck, kid."
My name? It doesn't matter as much as the worlds I build. What matters is how they make you feel-the ache, the rush, the sting that lingers after the last line.

"If you're reading this, you already know-I'm not the kind of writer who just gives you a story."

I give you a wound.
I give you a heartbeat.
I give you nights where you close your eyes and still hear my words screaming inside your skull... and maybe laughing a little too, because yes, even pain needs a sense of humor.
Now, grab a seat. The ink's still wet, and the madness has only begun.