I began with primitive fight or flight,
Within a forgotten long ago time;
Now I haunt my captives with endless fright,
Much fear spoken of me through prose and rhyme.
Within my cruel, pounding ancient heart,
There thrives no trust or kindly compassion;
No soft beauty to kind souls I impart,
For stark imprisonment is my fashion.
Little do I care for pleasant neatness,
But cripple victims with anxiety;
Poppies fall in peacetime from my duress,
Many scorned for sins by false piety.
Be aware rather than beware of me,
Be aware more of pain than threat to thee...
I force my captives some to scrub and clean,
Others in filth I still pierce fear-soaked mind;
I shame them all wherever they have been,
Cruel laughter has followed from those blind.
But pity me my broken, darkened soul,
Those who imprison are prisoners too;
Escape to free me and break my control,
Then I could find kindness, for I am you.
Relieve me from eternal winter's day,
Let absurd thoughts turn to soft loving words;
Allow me magic of bright month of May,
So dark thoughts turn to words that are songbirds.
So be aware of me, who do I be?
Obsessive compulsive disorder...me.