The monotonous pitter-patter of rain against the window pane is all that can be heard. All that can be seen is colorless blurs of a room in dim light. All that can be felt is the curling tendrils of the stale air grasp at every corner. Especially the one with a figure folded up in a fetal position.…
A collection of poems criticizing the human race…
Tension is commonplace is our world. Good and Evil are slurred together in a grey mess. Politicians are corrupt yet have morals. Criminals are robin-hoods but have an ulterior motive. Welcome to Rift.…
Who says the story behind us needs to be long…