The Black Dog (Depression 2)

Three am,
all I have is myself,
and the black dog,
that stares at me,
just inches from my face.
“You’re cursed, like all of them”, the dog tells me.
“Sing me some blues, about the mania, your bed, the mojo bag.”
The dog just loves the blues.
“There’s a song boiling inside you,
but your voice is shot,
and your hand too slow.
so write it all down as a poem,
and give up.”,
the dog growls.


Filed under creative writing, poem, poems, Short stories and essays

2 responses to “The Black Dog (Depression 2)

  1. “the dog just loves the blues” – very true. Nice line.

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