CRIED VERSES FROM THE BLEAK WASTELAND

The wasteland stretches forever, a graveyard of rusted metal and broken dreams. Screams echo through the desolate winds, whispering tales of loss. Here, amongst the ruins, poets find their voice, scratching verse onto parchment as crimson as the sky. Their words are sharp, a mirror to the soul of this forgotten land. Aching for rain, they write