Sunday, 16 August 2015

IT WAS A BLACK DOG AFTERNOON.


                           


                                       IT WAS A BLACK DOG AFTERNOON.


I woke this morning in a pool of vomit,
on standing I lost my footing,
cracking my head upon the table
and splitting my lip on the cold stone floor.
It was another black dog afternoon.

I crawled my way to the broken mirror,
to see myself with a cubist eye,
staring back all black and jagged,
some one looking back, it wasn’t me.
It was another black dog afternoon.

I heard a voice say take your medication,
pink first, then blue and white.
Stop shouting with your megaphone,
too loud, too loud, turn it down.
It was another black dog afternoon.

Some days the noise won’t go away,
sharp ones and oblongs too,
banging in my semi consciousness,
flashes are worse, I hate that sound.
It was another black dog afternoon.

I’m scared to death of bloody voices,
I need to shelter in my youth,
the only place where I feel safe,
snuggled in my blanket, warm.
It was another black dog afternoon.

The only way to escape the screaming,
is the solace of a Prozac haze,
more and more and more and more,
until the terror fades away.
It was my last black dog afternoon.

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