It sits there dominating the room and watches you as you struggle to push it out again. It carries with it, a cloak of darkness that blots out the sunlight and leaves you wandering in the empty halls of your mind wondering when things became the way they are.
It whispers to you, as you lie in bed in the morning, that it would be better to just stay there and let the world pass you by, that it does no harm to spend all day sleeping, because then you can't put a foot wrong.
It walks the corridors of your house leaving muddy footprints on your thoughts, and breathes out a fog of sadness that seems impossible to blow away.
That black dog came in one day and seems to be there to stay. It scratches at hidden secrets and digs up buried memories, howls out mournful tunes and snarls at helping hands. It finds things that you did not want found and awakens sleeping monsters from the deep.
But yet this black dog is as lonely as you, and rarely stirs itself from the bed its made, and leaves you wondering the biting question: how do you get a black dog off its bed?
