Dregs. A poem.

I tried to get up
But the black dog held me down
Every movement was too hard
Every thought a leaden weight
Black dog growled
And I submitted, giving up again
The bed was my cage, my brain the lion tamer
“Just who do you think you are?” he cried, cracking the whip again
“This is who you’re meant to be,” I heard him through my pain
And I lay there and wept, because some truths are hard to accept
And the black dog lay upon me, a smile/a snarl on its lips
“Today is not your day,” it said. “Perhaps tomorrow, or the next.”


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