I'm not entirely here
I'm trapped somewere
Living half aware
Hanging between the realities
Sitting in a room
A waiting room
Yellow and warm
Tense and eternal
Safe but never ending
Reality twisted
Overactive imagination
There is no door
But I can leave at any time
Only one way
Find my inner peace

the blind is broken
on the back door
where I try the handle
maybe one two three four
times before bed
my foot treads
wear a furrow
into carpet pile
patrolling by the mile
a circuit I navigate
from door to window
and back again
checking checking
my doorbell's camera eye
spies on the street outside
intruder alerts on my phone
warn of incoming......
something
all so I can complete
a nights sleep
with one ear open
tossing turning
I have covered all eventualities
except the Bogeyman
in my head
under the bed

The Demons are back again,
Haunting me with darkness,
Painting me with insanity,
Those sick little artists.
It's all my fault,
All the years of failure
And the neglect to cure this disorder,
That controls me.
The sadness consumes me,
The water is getting higher,
I can't breath, I'm drowning
In everything that becomes of me.
My mind bubbles with regret
And burns in pain
For ignoring this illness
That makes me insane.
My heart beats slowly
As it frowns in silence,
My blood rushes around
in heavy violence.
My body shakes
And I'm short on breath.
I'm becoming attacked by this panic
And I become a mess.
It's maniac ways
Every days the same.
It's calm and it's crazy
And I'm always fighting to stay Sane.

I want so badly to be me enough
That it doesn't matter how crazy I am.

In a world full of deadlines and assignments,
I often wonder if I am getting credit for my life.
Did I pass the exam because I didn't want to die today?
Am I succeeding for inhabiting a level state of consciousness?
Will I be penalized for the fatigue or the anxious habits,
The inevitable compulsions?
Do they see below my skin where the turmoil lays?
Are my bones enough to hold me up under the weight
Of my perfectionism and pressure for success?
Am I too slow or different in a world that demands I exist in a system?
Am I enough in the course of Planet Earth?
Is who I am what they want,
And does it matter?
Is there extra credit for taking a shower and complying with medication?
Professor, did I achieve an A?

"It's just a thought."
"It's just an image."
But still I make the demanded pilgrimage.
A triple lock.
A double check,
Compulsive look under the bed.
Oh, how strange!
Silly me!
Yet, I go.
I must repeat.
Therapist says I have OCD.

Nighttime.
Cars light up my room.

I count.

The moon keeps me awake,
Beaconing.

I can hear you.

Telling me to do it-
Hurt me, you, them...

Everyone.

Thoughts SCREAMING.
Words begging to become actions.

I close my eyes.

Deep, deep, deep breath.
It's just a thought.

Grounded.

Soft sheets, pillows...
Moon, stars, lights.

It's quiet.

Something to think through
When anxiety breaks you
What would Jesus do?