Is it just me or
Do we see the Devil in our dreams
And think for a moment
What it'd be like under his wing,
Or it may be a stretch but
Do we ever just a look a little
For his touch cause sanity ain't enough.
Anyone else find comfort in pain
But really want to change?
But deep down inside
The pain is a part of your brain
Is the mess you made
And you're too lazy
As they say to clean it up?
Or are you so desperate to
Believe in something that
You create your own temptations
With a demon you have made
And ...

****.

I have a problem, you see.
I own objects like blankets
I cannot sleep without,
Headphones 4 inches thick
To cancel the noises that
Wake up every nerve in my body
That make me shake and bite my nails

I own stubs for fingers
With cuts and chewed skin.
They run across my forehead
To stop the thoughts from occurring.

I count,
Correct the other side
When someone touches my skin.
I make sure every first letter
In the next line of poetry
Is capitalized,
Cause that's a rule.

I agonize over small things
Because as a kid,
No one helped me.
I was too nervous to play in the hose
Or turn on the shower
Because my family would drown.
The ritual began even then.

At 6 I could not play baseball
Because in the outfield
I would tic and make my nose bleed.

I can't even breathe without
Bothering this disease.
One lung does not fill up like the other,
And I get dizzy.

I have a scar on my forehead
From completing this ritual for years.
I fear
And feel.
Why do I fall victim to this disease?
God, I would pray but my hands can hardly
Touch each other without the horrible feeling.