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An Elegy for my Deceased Dog

Staring at your rug where you used to rest your sleepy reality,

My fur, I have been eager;

You died the day when I had enveloped my skin with the sunset.

You were in the latest video on my phone;

I never knew I was shooting a pain—

that from that day I would not anymore get a gain.


I have never experienced nor faced death that would render such excruciating ache.

Your slipped tongue was my admission—

that I have always been inferior.

I stabbed the air particles on that night, 

for that was the least thing I could do.


Scented candles, spoonfuls of sugar—

I watched death for the first time,

Wet hands, shivering January winds,

did I ever do anything to help you survive?


Rest upon my arms,

No weight I shall feel from lifting you,

but from this void ton that pulls me down.


With your apparition, make me feel my relief;

For no wine or vice that could get me out of this grief.





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