The dog is dead.

But we drag it by it's leash anyway,
down by the water,
through the park
and finally home,
to our bed.

The dog is dead.

But we pour our affections into it's fur.
We throw
our words,
our promises,
our love
at it, waiting for  it's body to grow warm with life once again.

The dog is dead.

But only once it's started decaying, rotting, bloating
will we be
okay enough to bury it,
okay enough to wipe the dirt off our hands,
okay enough to walk away.


* I wrote this to try to express my feelings regarding a dieing relationship of mine. I didn't actually **** a pup. Pup love <3