Black Dog

I’m here again, lost in the dance with the black dog;

I’m lost for words but my head won’t stop.

Doubting myself. Feeling so much but I can’t tell

If it’s me or him. He frightens me.

What if I don’t make it back this time?

Some days he hides, just behind the curtain…

I can laugh and joke on those days, but he keeps jumping out at me.

I’m trying; trying so hard to keep the beat

Because I’m not sure what happens if I lose it now.

“It’s okay to say,” I keep telling people

But I don’t quite believe that myself.

Not for me, anyway.

And the questions. The questions are killing me.

All the things my brain wants to ask, but the biggest one

Is whether I’d still feel like this if the beast retreated.

Trying to prioritise. Trying to decide which bits can be juggled

And which ones must be put away. Or aside.

Or be thumped all over, for all I know,

Just so the rest is easier to carry

Through this dance.

I wonder whether, if my dog decides to leave,

I will be dancing alone.

 

 

 

 

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