Black dog

I come out of my fugue,
Though I haven't done so in a while.
It used to be every now and again 
I'd shake that black dog.
Nowadays I just sit with it.

The dogs name by the way 
Is Soul rot---- 
Meaning the rot of a stinking soul
Or body that falls apart 
Faster than you can sow it back up.

After all, aren't we all dying at some point?
So it sits with me,
We discuss the basics.
I would feed it cookies if it let me.
I have good respect for it.

Otherwise, I feel it might bite me,
Doing additional harm, unnecessarily.
Nobody but me can see Soul rot.
Nobody really knows it's there.
I can't outrun it 

And if it sleeps it's disturbed 
By my slightest movements 
So I can't get away even in it's dreams 
Where it devours me.
Nobody chooses the thing.

It just attaches to you 
And you're left sort of hanging.
But so often it goes away 
And out of my fugue comes the equally beautiful 
But terrible day.