In the past I have been many things, some unwholesome and others more unsavory still. I don't say much about those days, shrugged off and discarded like today's dirty laundry. Memory is a strange thing though, allowing us the freedom of time travel without any control over it. Times before flashing in and out of thought. No regard is given to the fallen. I write about the past, as well as my present. I go so far as to write my own future, and in it maybe happiness awaits. I write because it allows me to shift my existence and thought in interesting ways, allowing me to share with you, what I see in the world around me. I cloak it in allegory and metaphor, alliteration and illusion. Some stories are fantasy, while others leave the scars of brutal reality upon my psyche. I'm here.