i haven't washed myself
in days

there's no point
because

it can't be washed away
anyway.

it only seems legit,
if you knew the half of it--
there were lies, deceit, and foreshadowed moments...
a familiar face, similar sounding name,
the light bulb is blown.
i have no idea what the hell is here,
but it is sure as hell...
a small small, world.

ive made sure to burn the **** ties,
cut and change the game,
the ******* thing that makes me different
makes you all seem the same.

i am an individual,
an entity,
a one-ness, of my own awesomeness...
but i know when fun is fun.
and then the work must be done.

Focus.
its seemingly funny and a what the **** in the same motion
the notion that Something is Off
and bulb is known to be blown, blackening the room,
the glass shatters and the fumes turn--
the shadows into the nightmares of the past...
a small world indeed!

run away, scared of me?
i grew up, moved on and some how closer
while we all look the opposing way
the walls keeping us apart will always be there.
those walls keep you far away,
the times that bother, disgust, an plainly outage...
you keep playing them against me and making--
me the stranger?

danger danger, will he ever understand?
this boy that everyone thinks of never sees reality.
he lives in fog, in an illusion.
if he thinks its awesome...
just wait for his conclusion.
the story he tells is only lies.
i have have recorded, documented and realized...
a small, small, world,
where it seems that me-- is the one whom knows the horrors of OCD.

Living in fear and constant humiliation
Worrying about more than cleaning and organization
The pills are becoming dull
Everything is becoming worse, people becoming more cruel

She prays and prays for the pain to go away
But with tears in her eyes, she can't help but say
" I live in a small box and no one can get in.
How can I help myself when I don't even know where to begin?"

People mock and claim to suffer
but they don't know how much it crushes her
She wants to live in a world where she can be "normal"
but instead she lives where obsessions are forceful

She will over come it, everyone agrees
She will eventually have internal peace
She will be happy, she will never cry herself to sleep again
but for now, she ends her prayers for strength with amen

Tricho-tillo-mania.
It rolls quite nicely off the tongue
Like the type of disease one with
Deep seated fears and complex facades
Would possess
When did this bad habit begin and form?
Has is always been silently lurking within this body?
Ready to pounce on any destructive opportunity
That would arise from my gut

Tricho-tillooooo-maniaaa.
I can overcome it, I know I can
Wait no, an hour went by and oh
Another pile of discarded hair on the floor
Again. And again.
If this luxurious mane of thick, dark hair is so
Admirable and wanted.
Why can I not stop plucking it from the very
Fibers of my skull’s skin?

Tricho-tillo-mania.
Keep it up and there will be naught
A single strand left on top of this girl’s head
My fingertips are aching and raw
Pleading with me to stop this
Nitpicking of these brown straws
Even as I type my nails
Scratch and burrow into my flesh
Pricking and prodding for what?
I wish I knew so I could tell you.

Trichotillomania.
Maybe my innermost desire
Is to rip this bruised skin and broken hair off my body
Until I am nothing more than a hot, ****** mess
Of congealed, dripping, internal organs
And a new case of polished, refined
Poreless, porcelain skin
and ruby- red sensual lips
Could **** me up and out of it
A perfect stranger would emerge
Free from my vice and sin.

Its cold, Its dark
the rain pours down
I wear my face in a constant frown
As I walk through the park
All the people I see
Run and smile
Happy and free
And hide my frown and pretend for a while.

But when the night comes
And the darkness return
I beg and pray for the rise of the sun
But its too far away
That I learnt

So that was that
My final surrender
I say goodbye to the rats
And my body so slender
The cold of the barrel caressing my lips
The pain and the scars on both of my hips
with one final tear I whisper goodbye
To the painful life which I had lead
One last noise; a deafening Bang
and all is silent because then I was dead

My Obsessive Compulsive Disorder causes me severe anxiety.

It's hard. To have it my way. It's hard. I overthink it. The images of the little things replay in my mind.
I can't seem to hide.

Why do I have this fear? Just make it all disappear. It's not reasonable yet it feels so intense.
I feel tense. I am not satisfied with my presence. I feel uncomfortable.
Why am I not content with my surroundings.

My disorder involves both obsessions and compulsions that take up lot of time and get in the way of important activities that I value.

So many mistakes that I need to fix.
So hard to perfect everything.

The line I drew isn't straight, I have to start all over.

I need to wash my hands again. It's been 5 minutes since I haven't.

Don't bite the Kit Kat, break off each stick and eat it.

The clothes in my closet should be hung up and organized by color.

My picture frame isn't hung up in the middle of the wall.

My food should not be mixed with the side dishes or I refuse to eat.

My apps aren't on the right page of my phone.
Twitter should be under social and instagram should be under photography and if it's not, it's wrong, it's all wrong!


I need to wash my hands again it's been 10 minutes since I haven't.

The tv volume should only be an even number or a multiple of five.

Why is my seatbelt twisted?
My mind is twisted.
All these errors are persistent.
So hard to resist it.

I am not leaving my house until my phone is 100%, 97% and I can't stand it (will not do. )

Mother tells me it'll be alright after i take my pills...I agree to as long as the pills are sorted by color

Obsessive–compulsive disorder (OCD) is an anxiety disorder characterized by intrusive thoughts that produce uneasiness, apprehension, fear or worry (obsessions), repetitive behaviors aimed at reducing the associated anxiety (compulsions), or a combination of such obsessions and compulsions.
That is what it tells me about my disorder.
It doesn't say anything about how I stay up every night
until the clock reads 3:33:33 each night because that's the time I am supposed to slepe at.
It says nothing about having to repeat things until they sound right.
Of coruse it won't tell you that I check that i've locked my door 33 times each day
because if it did it'd make you believe I was insane.
But please remember I am not insane
I am just anxiously worried about the simple things.

Louder
The music has to go louder

Loud isn't loud enough

I need their screams to wash out the voices on my head

I need the screeches to cover the burning of my soul

It's not enough
It's never enough
It'll never be enough

I can still hear myself
I don't want to hear myself

My soul eats at me
I need my mind to be overpowered

It can't get loud enough
Nothing covers the burning inside
Each though is a shard knife digging through my mind

Paranoid schizophrenic
Borderline
Bipolar
Depressed
OCD
Anxiety

I am not a human
I am a list of problems
And therefore I must leave