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The story ends how the story begins: A black dog sniffing and ******* Marking its territory, threatening From onyx eyes to stone scraping claws. It follows me… Moves itself in like a bad relative, Intent on bringing turmoil; On bringing torment. A fast transformation From noble to brutal, From canine king to feral beast In one snap of it’s jaw… Chewing my gut like it would old furniture, ******** my mind like it would a ***** Digging and scraping and scuffing My inner core, Leaving me full of holes, Collapsing my barriers, Dragging down inner walls Until I become translucent And the anxiety never eases. The light turned out, The animal becomes invisible in the darkness But testing me still with tapping paws As I lie fetus-like in the womb of sodden sheets. A day may pass… A week… A month… The dog is bored, nothing left to destroy Only meatless bones, The marrow ****** from within It turns full circle and again marks its ground. It walks, breaking to a trot Then a canter to a gallop, The stench of **** a loose diary entry For a random return. Copyright Marc Hawkins
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Oct 2, 2017
Oct 2, 2017 at 5:12 AM UTC
JOURNAL #1
The story ends how the story begins: A black dog sniffing and ******* Marking its territory, threatening From onyx eyes to stone scraping claws. It follows me… Moves itself in like a bad relative, Intent on bringing turmoil; On bringing torment. A fast transformation From noble to brutal, From canine king to feral beast In one snap of it’s jaw… Chewing my gut like it would old furniture, ******** my mind like it would a ***** Digging and scraping and scuffing My inner core, Leaving me full of holes, Collapsing my barriers, Dragging down inner walls Until I become translucent And the anxiety never eases. The light turned out, The animal becomes invisible in the darkness But testing me still with tapping paws As I lie fetus-like in the womb of sodden sheets. A day may pass… A week… A month… The dog is bored, nothing left to destroy Only meatless bones, The marrow ****** from within It turns full circle and again marks its ground. It walks, breaking to a trot Then a canter to a gallop, The stench of **** a loose diary entry For a random return. Copyright Marc Hawkins
#depression#bipolar#black#dog#darkness
Marc_Hawkins
Written by
Marc_Hawkins
55/M/Cornwall, UK
Oct 2, 2017
Oct 2, 2017 at 5:12 AM UTC
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