memories of grief, for the losses still hurt.

Poems written in a beach house while listening to the melodic sea waves touch the dunes.

a garden grows on the lips of roses waiting for a bird to land on its petals

anger, rage my stage, blood around me, crowned the killer of moods the dubious attitudes the urge to scream to explode is my dream

The lemons' pulps are squeezed on these pages, its juice used as ink.