The valley I call home fills with fog, I wish sometimes I had a dog.

I could fit in with the other walkers, not terrified of my lonely stalker’s.

I stare out my window from the edge of my bed, a million running thoughts in my head.

I pray to the the gods that may care for me, is there anything else I could be,

Hoping I survive another day of fog, still wishing I had beaten that dog.

D Jan 2017

(Just for note I’m not condoning animal cruelty by writing about beating dogs, its reference for the term ‘beating the black dog’, as in getting over depression.)


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