"The Warning"by Roy DawsonI told them not to do it. I said it as plain as the morning sun cutting through a dirty window. No poetry. No flair. Just truth in its simplest, hardest form. The kind of truth that doesn't need decoration because it's been earned—paid for in scars and sleepless nights.But they did it anyway.They always do.They hear the

The Storm Came Without AskingThe thing about storms is—they never ask permission.They don’t knock. They arrive. Sudden. Unforgiving.You might catch the sky darkening, but by then, it’s already too late.The wind’s tearing at the door, and it doesn’t care if you're ready.Doesn’t care if you just set your life in order,or if your hands are