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