Rarely

Often I'm a vivid picture of hypnagogic flashes, colour of a street dog, misunderstood summer cloud and nothing to be solved.
Often I'm just a dream of a cat caught in a high ceiling apartment, away from flowers, having human skin under claws. Often I'm just a human skin.

Is shallowness of my soul enough to make me take and return the wind to the lungs, crying of the neighbour babies, sadness in the deserted sunny days?

Hush, I'm sometimes sleeping knowing the stretching of the faith, admitting mornings as something new and special.
Father is happier as he's growing older, now he's 18. Walls of my flat are important part of my personality.
Will we stay happy even if we're not?

Crowded street said something about avoidance of interfering but
Often I'm a sidewalk to be stood on in the moments of kissing and hitting, sound of future car accidents, colour of bad sunset and
History of others' regrets:

Berlin is covering modern history with new born grass, Zagreb is shrinking in memories becoming love for everyone and this house is transferring feelings to some distant lives, never lived

Sky full of ghosts, of dead birds, so full of fog

Often, I'm too intense for the world I made.