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Dogs greet, everytime, they meet, they meet, everytime, like the first time, pushing their, wet nose against you, to play, everytime an urge to, rush and stay.. while sleeping, when aproached, their tail, would still keep dancing, while digging their, sniffs onto their toys, they come to you, all jumpy and pouncing, with eyes seeking, approvals... They keep you protected, in a manner like, no one else, they check if you are okay, and follow you, to a cave or, a shabby mess.. They make requests, which even though, hit rejects, doesn't end up, reflecting stature, rubbing themselves, all over you, they sit alongside, as if they are, always ready for the ride, whenever... If it's late, They wait, If it's hate, They relate, If it's tears, They seek to distract.. Trust me, At some point they do, Have the power to read your mind.. They come to check, On you at night, They always acknowledge, That you are right, Your daughter just adores it's presence, Even though more ofte

There's not much

There’s not much for me..
As I could see.
Only the waves that left ashore..
Tides preceded to end it’s roar.
There’s not much for me..
As words felt blank.
Only by the grave to be rest assure..
Tears fled to bend the choir.
There’s not much for me..
But a glance next door..
At the forever friendly lad..
Who said you finally spoke I am glad.
There’s not much for me..
Only madness in store..
To keep breathing insecure..
While gripping on to a stranger feels pure.
There not much for me..
Only a tiny bird that sings in love..
Squeaked by a squirrel..
Get over it you aren’t visible as a dove.
There’s not much for me..
Only drizzles thundering rain clouds..
Distant giggles murmuring doubts..
That instantly might lead myself to fame.
Peeping through holes ..
Akwardly pronouncing my name.
There’s not much for me..
Since that life is gone..
When troubled by the stone..
Aimed it to break the river bone.
There’s not much for me..
A road driving home..
Keys unlocking storms..
Wrestling to open clogged up drains.
There’s not much for me..
Only stars that are somewhere outside.
Too far to catch them anyway..
Figurative forms of defining the milky way.
As night swallow the inside.
There’s not much for me..
But the whole sea..
Staring up to me..
While I embrace my face..
That got ignored for too long.
There’s not much for me..
Now I can’t make believe how..
It’s me who stands and talks..
It’s me who gets up and walks…
Stop pretending to be the shadow that stalks..
There’s a whole lot of me…
When you run into mornings..
While darkness lurks.


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