Clawing and wishing
I could hold on wishing
there were some other way
to make sense
of the things around me
that didn’t involve
putting them in my mouth.
Feeling like a
less-than-toddler
at being able to cope,
feeling like a
wide-eyed jackrabbit
two lightfootsteps
from being backbroke
in the jaws of a black dog.
Everything’s just
so fucking heavy right now,
on my chest,
on my eyes,
on my lips.
I can hear you just fine, though,
but you’re not going to like it
if all I can do is howl along with it,
even if it’s in key.
black dog
