by Charles Bukowski

this dog Sadness is gnawing at me
again.
I sit in this room with a big hole
chewed in my
side.
all I want are some gentle
moments
to fall like soft
raindrops.
they will not arrive.
this dog Sadness is a persistent
mongrel.
he finds me so often
these days,
again and again.
he is here with me now.
“go on,” he growls, “write your
poem about me,
it won’t make me go
away.”
he’s right.
I stop and look at my
wristwatch,
follow the second
hand around
and around.
it leads me nowhere.
I am trapped here with this Sad
dog.
I make small movements,
light a cigarette
rattle a box of
paper clips.
nothing changes.
this dog of Sadness
continues to
sit here with
me,
feeding greedily.
he is getting quite
fat.
you want a pet,
my friend?
I’ll give him to you right
now
along with this
poem!
if only
you would
be kind enough to
take him away,
this
Sad
dog.

—from Slouching Toward Nirvana