Black Dog

Its raven skin follows without a 'woof,' no bark no bite, darker than a shadow in sunlight. It reflects in the mirror, staring with 'Edgar Allan Poe,' ebony eyes. At dawn it's at the bedside, wanting to wander into the morning mist. At twilight it rests its head on my pillow, stalking, into my sleep. It sits on the passenger seat, without a seatbelt, unfocused, unconcerned, like it has no need to exist. It plods slowly around the office, slumping forward, back curved like a 'jack knife.' Colleagues ignore its obsidian paws, sore from scabs, resting on the desk. Its head droops with my sullen, dull ache. Its tongue looks rough, no saliva drips - a bit like my cracked lips. We both seem to breathe in dry air, as it feeds on my molasses mind. It has no interest in sticks nor treats, nor cares to leave my side. A sinister magnetic faithfulness. Unmoved, as I vomit black bile. I wonder how is he a man's best friend?