It’s always at 3am
You wake with a feeling of dread
It can come from medication
Or lack of it
Maybe PTSD
Or something happening in life
Or just plain anxiety and fear
Either way it’s always 3am

You’ve been asleep
And the unconscious has been free to roam
You wake with this powerful sense of dread
Your mind attaches reason to it
But that’s not always what it is
Every nerve in the body hurts
Not with pain
But with emotion
A kind of yearning

You distract the mind to ease it
And think it’s gone
But as soon as you stop the distraction
It returns
Eventually you sleep
But when you wake up
The black dog is still sitting there
And follows you for the rest of the day.