#obsessions
You can have
OBSESSIONS,
in your
BEAUTY,
as if you are trying
to IMPRESS,
nice fitted clothes,
dresses, and
outfits of sorts,
sometimes
could go
OVERBOARD, and
having
you looking
HOT MESS, but
it's okay though,
just find your
RIGHT STYLE,
just keep
searching for your
look, and
you will fill
out the
PERFECT PROFILE,
WE ALL
HAVE A LOOK,
OH, YES WE ALL DO!!!
JUST SEARCH
HIGH, AND
LOW FOR IT, AND
THEN LET
IT WEAR YOU,
NO TIME FOR FEELING LOW, OR
FEELING
SAD AND BLUE,
LOOK FOR
SOMETHING
THAT WORKS, AND
WATCH WHAT
IT WILL DO!!!
FROM THE TOP
OF YOUR HEAD,
TO THE SOULS OF YOUR FEET,
TO MAKE
AN EXPRESSION
OF SOMETHING
SO UNIQUE,
FASHIONABLE, FLAIR, AND
OH-SO-CHIC!!!
KEEP BUILDING ON THAT,
THEN YOUR LOOK
WILL BE COMPLETE!!!!
B.R.
Date: 5/10/2026
May 10
May 10, 2026 at 10:26 PM UTC
Creepy doll, trillions of fans,
Spending millions, but I won’t even hold it in my hands.
Annabelle’s better, atleast she’s cute,
Labubus?
Nope I'm not buying it even if it's free!!
Sep 1, 2025
Sep 1, 2025 at 6:35 AM UTC
I can be obsessive. For instance, last night I needed a command hook.
My mind couldn’t focus on “Principles of Biostatistics,” as fascinating as that book is, because I needed this $3 command hook to hang my keys by the door.
There’s a table by the door, I could easily put my keys there, but no. That’s where books go (am I too picky?). What’s funny is, I’d just been reading about ‘bias mitigation,' ya know, science is everywhere.
Still, I searched the boxes that I hadn’t unpacked
I looked around them too, did one fall in a crack?
Did I have one to begin with? I couldn’t keep track.
I texted Charles (across the hall), “do you have a command hook?”
“A what?” he replied. So I texted his wife, who went to look.
When she didn’t have one, I went back to my book.
The chapter was about ‘probability distributions as tools for managing uncertainty.’ How topical, here I was, uncertain about when I’d get that command hook. Never mind an indifferent God, science is obviously listening.
It was nearly midnight. I wondered, how late Door-Dash delivered?
Would they bring my hook or were there other services I should consider?
What about Amazon, Target or WalMart—could one of those be a winner?
In the end I had to do without—I gave up at 1am.
The miracle of capitalism had failed me—damn.
I could study with the hook off my mind. So, I set an Alexa reminder,
an alarm on my watch and alerts on my iPhone and MacBook finder,
then I wrote a pink post-it note, and put that on my epidemiology binder.
I have a standing, pre-dawn jog with Charles, and an idea forming.
If we passed an open convenience store, I could buy one in the morning!
.
.
Songs for this:
I Want You by Bob Dylan
I need you by Jon Batiste
Jun 13, 2025
Jun 13, 2025 at 1:39 PM UTC
The memories, the loving,
the longing, the dread.
The ghost of me still lives in your head.
You see me, you shutter, you stutter turn red.
The ghost of me remains undead.
Alone with him.
There’s nothings left..
My ghost still haunt
your lovers nest…
The obsessions, the confessions,
the unlearn lessons.
Until my ghost is no longer pleasant..
Sep 21, 2024
Sep 21, 2024 at 7:18 PM UTC
I break my pattern
and reduce the restriction
of obsessive attention
to a particular
schedule or behavior,
because if I want to
I can do it now or later,
take the time to savor
the flavor of the moment
because I own it
and not the other way around.
This type of freedom is profound,
and easy to achieve
even though it frequently eludes.
Obsessions frequently intrude rudely
and take more time than
I care to admit to.
The world may be
very close to ending
or not,
but my life is all
that I really got,
so I will greedily
hoard my individuality
and liberty to see and perceive
that strings that seem to direct me
and sever them immediately.
Nov 27, 2023
Nov 27, 2023 at 12:05 PM UTC
How much more pills do I have to take?
To even feel a thing, a glimpse of hope or anything? The days pass so quickly and I always wonder why, I don’t stop to smell the roses or point my face towards the sky, I never even try. I’ve become comfortable in my sadness, though I hate it so. My depression, my madness and obsessions is all I really know.
Dec 22, 2020
Dec 22, 2020 at 2:09 AM UTC
You took my hand into your small
Gentle fingers, yet to be tainted by years
Guiding me with rainbows and tireless curiosity in your eyes
Flowers bloomed beneath your feet
And as I followed you, I trampled them
My heart warmed at your sight
Weaving a young and delicate desire into me
And I couldn’t let go of your hand
When you turned your back
An obsession grew, violently
Your kind don’t last in my world
And I’m happy to devour the innocence
I will crush you with wounded hands that you bandaged
I’ll smile like how you taught me to
I’m simply overfilled with joy
As you smell the scent of the lilies you had given me
Your innocence turns to death
Sep 30, 2020
Sep 30, 2020 at 7:48 PM UTC
Kissing my wrist.
1. 2. 3
times. I should
be good for
a few hours.
Then repeat again.
Stumb- stumbling stumble
over ov ov
stumbling over over
over over over
stumbling ov over
my over my
words. Every time
I try to
speak to you.
Kiss, 2, 3.
Now I won't
accidentally hurt you.
Picking at my
skin, pinching, frowning.
Cutting each and
every bite into
a perfect cube.
A PERFECT cube.
Into the car.
Kiss, kiss, kiss.
Now I won't
be in another
car accident. But!
Don't forget, don't
forget. Do it
again to be
sure. You have
to or else
you'll get hurt.
Hurt your family.
Hurt someone else's
family. Break apart
a whole life.
I can count
every single calorie
I have eaten
today without even
looking at the
label. I can
taste and tell
you which artificial
sugar is in
my energy drink.
But! I only
drink the ones
with guarana extract.
It's all natural,
so at least
kinda better, right?
FREEZE! Here comes
a new thought.
What if I
suddenly ran out
into traffic, got
hit by a car,
and traumatized someone.
Or, consider, if
I went to
a theme park,
and just jumped
out in front
of a roller
coaster, horribly traumatizing
a whole train
of children. A
huge explosion of
blood and brains.
Don't do it,
don't do it,
Don't do it,
don't, don't, don't
It's a thought.
It doesn't control
you. It doesn't.
Let it go.
Kiss kiss kiss.
Kiss, 2, 3.
Kissing my wrist.
Dec 21, 2019
Dec 21, 2019 at 1:45 PM UTC
Within
stirs a persistent bane
birthed
while on her Mother’s knee
Now her bones
grate against the chair
amid her rhythmic rocking
that breaks the dim silence
Images reverberate
on the back walls
of her mind
Disquietude prompts alarm
as her obsessions claw
to unearth graves
of fears
she pretends are invalid
Her desire to flee
from reminders of falsehoods
and fake passions
nags her endlessly
like unforgivable sins
haunt a cloistered sister
Neither pleas, nor prayers
quell her ruminations.
Feb 18, 2019
Feb 18, 2019 at 11:05 AM UTC
The roses bloom around a house
Reaching over the roof and into the clouds
The thorns pierces the windows
And the roots becomes the floor I stand on
The living room becomes uninhabitable
With glass shattered on the sofa,
The TV split into two
And the air becoming unbreathable
The kitchen is full of insecurities
With rotting food in the fridge,
The missing knifes found in the tub,
And the family table with lost chairs
As a family we protect a single room
The walls are covered with mirrors
Gifted invincibility by our imagination
We stare at our reflection in wonder
Our shoulders are back
Confidence in our eyes
Our head is held high
And into the clouds
We became lost in our protection
Unable to see what is below
Until the dark and bright clouds part
Allowing the star to pierce the sky
It's is a fact that when there is more light
Our shadows become fed
Growing darker than before
And whispers into our ears
We believed we were giants
Taller than our house
And one with the roses
Wanting to seek the blue sky
Instead we trapped ourselves into the clouds
Becoming lost children
Who ignored the open window
And got pricked by a rose
We were smaller than our disguise
Once there was nothing left to compare to
Light shun into the room of mirrors
Leaving a broken family in sight
But we were all addicted
To the beauty of the roses
Who petals became clouds
And the stems that became ladders
Aug 11, 2018
Aug 11, 2018 at 7:52 PM UTC
People say I'm obsessive, and I wholeheartedly agree. I'd die for a favorite artist, and I reread stories I like until I hate them. I force myself to love every song performed by "my band", to a point where I'm not entirely sure which of their tunes actually earned their place in my heart.
It brings to mind a modern-Hebrew term, "protektzia". It can be translated as social leverage, or "pull". Protektzia is when you are related to the administrator of an elite high school, or when you're friendly with the secretary of a sought-after doctor. It's as if songs walk up to me and say, "hey, I know I'm not that great, but I was written by so-and-so!"
All that changes when old Depression drops by. Suddenly, things I cared so much for are meaningless. It's like quarreling with a close friend. Although, I don't hate my former faves so much as scorn them, for being silly enough to exist.
Why does depression do this to me? Because depression is the drainage of passion. As a cow needs to be milked and a dripping air-conditioner needs a bucket, what are obsessions if not an outlet for the passion contained in the heart?
But neither are necessary when the cow is dead and the AC off.
Thankfully, depression to me is a mood rather than a condition, and so I host frequent reunions with my beloved idols.
You are all invited!
Jun 18, 2018
Jun 18, 2018 at 7:27 PM UTC
Always thinking,
Always fearing.
Always losing my control.
Could be better,
I resent her.
Write the letter of my soul.
Sweet obsessions,
Fear burning through my veins.
Sweet obsessions,
Questioning if I'm really sane.
It's so confusing:
The words I'm using,
To show the stories I have told.
Fight together,
Or against her.
The thoughts that I've heard are so old.
Sweet obsessions,
Fear burning through my veins.
Sweet obsessions,
Questioning if I'm really sane.
Suffering and obsessing,
Are the same thing or so it seems.
This obsession isn't sweet-
Constant thoughts of the fear to beat.
Sweet obsessions,
Fear burning through my veins.
Sweet obsessions,
Questioning if I'm really sane.
Jan 10, 2018
Jan 10, 2018 at 11:44 PM UTC
i'm collecting the times i wake up
already feeling my knees buckle
from the shame, the nerves, the stares.
i'm hoarding the clocks that i've stared at
throughout my adolescence
when the nights were long and my blood looked redder.
i'm keeping the tickets i used to escape
the rumble and the jumble inside the house
back then when the walls were thin and my skin was thinner.
i'm checking the numbers, the drawers, the walls
again and again and again
just to see if anything is about to break again.
Mar 3, 2017
Mar 3, 2017 at 3:53 AM UTC
A gap within my minds brigade
is the price, solemnly payed
weak- the bold brain's barricade
a barricade assumed concrete,
proven otherwise as I repeat
irrational- my slow defeat
Compelled am I, a victim to
intrusive thoughts I can't subdue,
to cease them truly, I've no clue
But I've a hunch that if I end,
consumption, and myself defend,
longer no more I'll haft pretend
No one can function at this pace
I wish always my steps retrace
back to run a different race
to end in a much different place.
Feb 20, 2017
Feb 20, 2017 at 10:48 PM UTC
She is an unhealthy obsession which fritters away my attention for anyone else, and whom I can only become haunted by and consumed by but never taken by.
Oct 12, 2016
Oct 12, 2016 at 8:34 PM UTC
It started with existence
just a lowly perspective of a mute
time when I was able to
make sense of this pressure
make sense of why
you are now here to guide me now
on this looser journey; a lonely crabapple
still grappling at shriveled skin creating a face
that I still
cannot
distinguish.
With the end of presence as we know it
you have finished, rightly
in my dressing room
bright screen lit up
but only for a moment do I dare look away.
It started with you, and it will end with you
Closed off from me, shortly
your bioluminescence radiant,
your perfection incomplete.
I’ve known you for six straight years
or was it five
just enough
construed construction, a bloated
piece of mind that left me free to wander
aimlessly down I path I cannot recognize.
It was you who caused my blunder,
keeping me awake every night
with your brightness and distraction and amiable personality.
I decorated you with bits of me,
tangled in and out like woven webs of cybernetics
optimal connections, you died twice and I revived you.
But that was in the past
and you still cling on, for how much longer
I shan’t not know.
Only that what it means to exist
when I should be letting go.
I have to face the trust of reality and its weakened points;
that dangerous, well-formed world I find myself in.
I hope you can follow me
as long as you are able,
my clunky plastic compadre
your heart is metal mixed with other
kinds of fragile contraptions.
I know this end to my happiness is not your fault.
You were there when I needed you most,
even if you are a tool of innocence turned foul.
I once learned all of existence from your knowledge,
gleaned myself raw
trying to let you help me
understand myself.
We are not truly over because I am bound to you
somehow
even though I’ve used you for my own gain
abused your trust and have my own heart slain.
All I ask is for you to give me a chance
to make it right
again.
And then I can move on to better things.
And not be obsessed of what you think of me.
And find a way to pull myself together.
May 3, 2016
May 3, 2016 at 7:25 PM UTC
I have everything - what do you have?
a loving wife, possessions - how about obsessions?
wishing for a younger woman, unlimited ***
conversational recognition to give you ignition
Put them aside - you had so many opportunities
they're gone - now grow up where you belong
you have dark moods, impatient, wished you were elsewhere
It's not the amswer - the answer is right before you
Transparent as the air that blows and caresses
your shoulders - only you have to take it under your wing
before the time is gone - even then you will be
holding hands walking together with your old smiles
You could start again - but it's best the way it was
there are no reasons - great love is simply because
Apr 12, 2016
Apr 12, 2016 at 2:11 PM UTC
No one could possibly know more than you.
It was physically impossible-
Right?
...
...
Okay, so maybe you needed to find something else;
Some other place: to target your energy,
to seek comfort,
to find inspiration.
It's alright sweety because there's a move for every rhythm.
The goal is to find your own rhythm before doing anything else.
Feb 15, 2016
Feb 15, 2016 at 4:55 PM UTC
Lately I’m obsessed with the black and white photos of the world. The way they bring out the details you didn’t think you’d see in your life.
Lately I’m obsessed with the hidden greyscale of my life. The little spots or blemishes I didn’t know I had in between the cracks of my mind.
Lately I’m obsessed with knowing all I can know about how to forget my past. How to find those ancient remedies or dark coffees and fruity teas that will stop the pain in my heart for a little while.
Even though these obsessions seem so tiny compared to my big thoughts and wild dreams.. I can’t stop thinking of what’s next. Mystery lies on the horizon of my new obsession & how I will handle it.
Jan 16, 2016
Jan 16, 2016 at 7:23 PM UTC
Within stirs a persistent bane
birthed while on her mother’s knee,
endorsed with fiery warnings
loudly proclaimed from weekly pulpit.
Now her bones grate
against the cushion
while the rhythmic cadence
of rocking chair
runners on hardwood
breaks the dim silence
as past misdoings reverberate
on the back walls of her mind.
Disquietude prompts obsessions
she endeavors to prove invalid.
Her desire to flee
from reminders of falsehoods
and fake passions
nags her endlessly
like unforgivable sins
haunt a cloistered sister.
Neither pleas nor prayers
quell her remorseful ruminations.
Jul 13, 2015
Jul 13, 2015 at 11:53 AM UTC
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
Jun 16, 2015
Jun 16, 2015 at 10:44 PM UTC