shoes tap and kick softly to an undetectable melody
the slightest sensations seem to be overwhelming
a moving hair,
a twinge of numbness,
ah, there’s the familiar *****.
looking down to my hands, the bud blooms
and cascades down my thumb.
it's revolting..
..but i can't stop
the obsession that plagues my life
someday i fear it will be too controlling
and that i will succumb to its demands,
but for now, i’ll just watch
too scared to reach out,
too scared of change.

indecisive, precised
on nothing that matters
to block out the natter chatter
that keeps ideas shattered

one step forward
and five steps back
ignoring is rewarding with a slap

growing weary and dreary
feeling short of time
I struggle to remember
that my mind is mine

longing to be involved
not feel mistaken
alone in contemplation
vicious circle situations

unsettled on repeat
my eyes can't see
I have the ability
to run from this free

doubts and outs
what has come from my mouth?
again and again
competing with friends
fantasies of enemies
far-fetched theories
smoked and smeary

my spontaneity stretched
my confidence confiscated
always on edge  
opportunities wasted

fretful precision
anxious decisions
imitates and animates
knife sharp and fast
convincing and sneering
you are an outcast

Notes to a lover who once was

If I go over
what I did enough times
Laugh it out the way you did
As if my feelings were
in of themselves
a joke to be had

If I wish you away in my mind
Think of anything but your touch
The sweet one where
you rumble deep
Memories
Please fade away

You buried your face beneath your hands the first time
I walked into your place
Embarrassed by its state
as if it wasn’t a fact of your existence
Testimony to your state of pause

I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry!

Apologies in fast succession

OCD triplets Im familiar

I play back the hours that we share the same space

I smell the instability in the air.

Faint but present under cigarettes and old spice

Familiar like family

Eager to enter (me)

Beneath the banter (sweet and constant)

Slowly you pace the apartment searching for a plug you’d lost the year before.

Wasting time because it seems to be your comfort zone.

I lay back and patiently wait for you to do the same.

But you continue to delay.

Unsettled.

I keep getting thoughts.
The bad, bad thoughts.
Fleeting, passing, ever changing?
I wish!
I keep getting thoughts.
The bad, bad, thoughts.
Sticking, clinging, ever staying.
I despair.
Bleach? Drink it.
Heart? Stab it.
Food? Puke it.
I keep getting thoughts.
The bad, bad thoughts.

I can't stop cleaning
My knuckles are dry
Red
Rivers of disinfectant fill the parched cracks of my skin
A storm in a gorge
There's too much dust
A sandstorm
I swipe it away
It comes back!
Dark grey tufts of storm clouds
That I, with my
Mighty Hand
Brush away
Insignificant

But it's not nothing
I know what it is

I tear the filled pages
Out of my notebook
Cast them away
They're impure
Scribbled on
Clean white pages are all I need
The purity of sacred bleach

Smell the chemicals, the cleanliness
Destroy the dust, keep order
Tear the paper, fall like rain

It's never nothing
I know what it is

In the washroom
my reflection
and I,
Challenge one another-

A coagulated sweat,
A Combat baby's brain,
A moon that doesn't set-
Ascending constant strain...
Oh Anxiety, Paranoia,
Obsession and Depression,
Still perhaps, a poem just might
set free this true confession:
Confusion and  Delusion
The mirror's blunt conclusion
Pristiq, and then Welbutirn,
Art's  inclusive-type solution.

another one's challenge;
my Reflection , and I
In the Washroom.

i want to stop
checking my body,
wiggling the door ****,
counting the fatalities,
searching my symptoms,
and asking for reassurance.

i want to be able to leave,
not doubting
that i turned the straightener off,
that i shut the toilet lid,
that i locked the door.

i want to be able to sleep at night
without tapping
the doorknob
to make sure it's locked,
or else someone will break in.

i don't want to
be scared
when i see the number 13,
or be unable to
wear a certain sweater
without the fear of being sick.

but instead of staying habitual
i have become avoidant.

I'm afraid of my own hands

I cannot trust them
because I know were they've been
and it is hard to wash away the past

I try to hide them and keep them as far away from me as possible
to protect myself from them

but these are the hands that feed me
and bathe me
and touch me

I have to trust them but I can't
I'm afraid of my own hands

I don’t want to be numb anymore
I don’t want to cry only when I think about how empty I am inside
I don’t want my wrists to burn
Begging for a cut to make me feel again
I want to care truly and deeply again
I want to feel my life
I want to feel alive

However

The medication keeps me sane
It keeps me able to eat
More than a few tortillas a day
I don’t dissociate and panic
Because my homework is stressful
I can make it through my days
Because I take that pill
The lowest dosage I could convince my doctor to offer
It’s keeping me alive

I think