I met a dog
that would only
feed off
stories,

we sat-
me, on an old
***-stained chair
with this dog
by my side-

and I told stories,
of new and old;
this ******* dog
was wagging its tail
at the
saddest stories,
things that
should never
even be
told.

it proceeded to
gnaw
violently
at my calf
and occasionally
digging into my thigh,
as if it could smell
that the
most
miserable
misanthropic
stories
fester under my
skin;
stories on
all sorts of
failed
things.

“this ******* dog,
I tell ya,
is a real
sadistic
****”-
I write
with a chunk
of flesh
missing
from my
side.