When rain comes,
old smiles flatter dogs,
I’m dying
below gray
rock, and morgues speak of silent
dances, my last squeels
When rain comes,
old smiles flatter dogs,
I’m dying
below gray
rock, and morgues speak of silent
dances, my last squeels
Death, Depression, Dogs, Rain, recovery, Shadorma
This entry was posted on April 3, 2017, 7:59 am and is filed under Poems. You can follow any responses to this entry through RSS 2.0. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.
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Stillfugue |
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