A sea sits crouching

A poetic experience flows into the soul drop by drop to talk about those who walk on the sand all the devastating losses, the losses that whipped them and exhausted their screams until speech became just burdens that increase over time, so they appeared speechless and silent for a long... long time to eternity. So that no one controls my mood, some slender texts in which the writer highlights liberation from music, singing, places, and times, in which he announces repentance from the morning coffee cup and the moon after midnight, and in which he declares himself frankly in front of time.