I feel like I’ve already said a lot,
so much, maybe too much.
Since I started writing,
day after day,
I’ve always had something to say.
I have a lack of ideas.
Because I feel empty.
It’s like a weapon
That has run out of all the bullets.
But let’s think about something more peaceful, I don’t know:
a tree, with the branches now dry.
Now I will enjoy the passage of time,
the waves of the sea,
the wind blowin’,
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