The Black Dog
Hello hound from hell
Pretending to cower in the corner
Dripping, snarling fangs
Come to feast
On all I have.
I scavenge what little remains
Making do with what’s left:
the debris
the refuse
the dregs
the waste
- the things the hound didn’t want
Chewed up.
And spat back out.
What’s left is tainted
Drenched in the same gloopy dew
The halitosis of hell
Lingers on what’s left of me.
My love - its litter
For all its leavings
Pungent, hot and steamy
- not at all what I had imagined passion to be.
My strength - its chew toy
Tattered pieces
Litter the halls
Of my tooth-marked heart.
My confidence - a forgotten memory
The hound’s indelible presence
Has me wet
With the mark of its territory
My hope - a hopeless game of tug of war
I pull and hold on
Until my hands and heart
are bloody raw.
Rebecca .A. Huxley
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