I feel like this very moment cracks in time, as the voices of the future try to access it, tearing the thin fabric of coherence that kept him attached. Reviewing it thoroughly, looking for details to detach me from myself.
Crying, irritating cries, It is the despair seeping of unintelligible form, dragging me into madness.
Death with me through the years, accompanying me, sometimes even, pushing me forward. Avoiding you breathe out my presence at all before time, to reflect me cowardice.
Is that deambularé for the life to come, Desiring to reach the edge of the same, to become in the absence of this world. I know, I can see it in the laments, from here, from the present.
Your inert ears can not hear them already, still frozen in the perpetual instant, in which you become empty.