The Black Dog Poem by Pauline Levesque

It is nipping at my heals.
Images of my death in various ways play out in front of my eyes.
One scenario is from pills and my lifeless body lying in bed for a few days before anyone comes to investigate.
Would I be missed?
All I ever talk about these days is what I am not, what I don't have and so self absorbed, I cant hear anyone elses life.
Would I be missed?

Maybe everyone would be relieved.
Friends and family at my funeral speaking in hushed whispers. 'She never seemed really happy'. 'Always in the background, always looking for the worse'. So much self pity.

'Hopefully she has finally found peace.'

Is there peace in death? Maybe it's a lie. Maybe as a good catholic girl, I do believe suicide brings your mortal soul to purgatory and maybe my purgatory is to live this life over again! ? Replaying all my anguish, shame and pain.

Maybe that belief stops me from finally following the black dog to hell. My heart pain is so close to the edge that I can see the abyss. I feel no hope, no happiness. A broken heart, a broken soul is what the black dog salivates over.
Just waiting from the sidelines, patiently waiting<div class='separator' style='clear: both; text-align: center; '>
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for me to truly give up.

Will I be missed?

I don't know