PLOT
The Colors Of This World Are Fading, Should I Be Afraid Of The Damp Future That Awaits. It's Gotten So Cold, I Can Hardly Stand It. My Skin Is Peeling, My Mocking Veins Protruding, I Can Feel My Organs Shrinking And My Brain Shriveling. What Will Be Left Of Me To Devour Once Fates Boney Fingers Claw At My Flesh.