Black Dog

The Black Dog is being lonely in a house full of beings.

The Black Dog is listening to the same songs you have each time he bites, from bitten minds, you can relate to.

The Black Dog is staring at a wall completely awake, just not in that current space or time.

The Black Dog is fear, irrational fear of leaving your home, fear of conversation, not with strangers, but with people you know, the fear of them seeing the fear in your eyes and judging you after you’re gone.

The Black Dog is the flashing images of a life after this and the guilt for wondering if it’s better, if it’s free of Black Dogs.

The Black Dog is intrusive thoughts of the tools used to create a path to that other life, thereafter, the rope, the blade, the crashing high speed metal.

The Black Dog is hatred of you.

The Black Dog is belief in others opinions.

The Black Dog is seeing only pain and suffering in an otherwise beautiful world.

The Black Dog is seeing too much beauty in the world.

The Black Dog is numb, cold, yet loyal.

The Black Dog is always there, even if you manage to lock him outdoors in a winter kennel; he doesn’t age, he doesn’t die, he dies with you.

The Black Dog is the cruelest friend you know, but a friend none the less.

The Black Dog is a quick path back to all those memories that shaped you, rearranged you.

The Black Dog can be a force of good, when he’s asleep, yet accept he will again, always, wake, sometimes when you least expect him.

The Black Dog is a rabid, whining, foul beast from the hell of your heart and the sickness in your soul.

But the Black Dog is you, a part of you, make him your friend, take him for a walk and pat his head. Feed him with art and with prose, with tune and with toil.

Tell him he’s a good boy, and throw him your thoughts to fetch with a smile.