Put Down
Something is wrong with my dog.
Her body is skeletal,
her face turned to molten flesh,
or her smile remains, but all too human.
Our walk just began, and in the moment I looked away,
something took her from me.
She is not dead, and she has not disappeared,
but the friend I knew is gone,
and I am left with pieces
that only exist to be scattered.
Notes: in college, I was always afraid of Rosemary either dying horrifically or losing her personality to a disease because something like that probably would've been it for me. in my mind, a slower loss where she was no longer herself would've been worse than something as sudden as a car accident. it was going to be tragic no matter what, but I was blessed with it being neither of the two when it was time.