The Black Dog

The howl of the black dog

Beats against the walls of my home, again.

Feelings I'd almost forgotten -

Hearing the cries from within the

Safety of my built boundaries.

As of late they’re getting louder each day…

Or, I seem to be listening to them longer.

 

I used to bury the dog -

But have you ever had to kill your best friend

With hopeless hands?

My garden is full of gravestones,

And if I had someone close enough,

They’d see the dog-tags I carry every day,

To remind me that I am an unlikely survivor.

 

The problem with burying the dog is

This world is full of strays, and before long

You will have a new beast neither of you understand.

But you feed it. You walk it. It bites you.

It pisses everywhere and demands your full attention,

But it protects its territory from other beasts,

And it protects you from yourself.

 

I thought myself intimate with its howls by now.

As I keep listening, trying to understand the pain,

I realise they are not coming from outside.

They are not coming from the dog at all.

The dog is gone, and I’ve built my boundaries

Too high for a new stray to slip in -

I am truly alone now.

 

If depression is The Black Dog,

Loneliness is The Grey Wolf.

Stalking within the walls of an empty home.

Never seen, but always heard.

Unlike the dog, who simply wanted all my attention,

The wolf wants to show how fragile my hollow halls are,

Threatening to huff, and to puff, and to blow my brains out.

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