Inside the Octagon

So the numbers 2,4,6 and 8 are dear to me 

and this is all thanks to my OCD

Odd numbers provide uncomfortably

Even numbers provide me with a form of safety


Shoes on twice, light switches on 8

These rituals ensuring I am always late

Sorry am late it must be fate that I am controlled by the number 8


I sometimes challenge these torturous thoughts

But I end up drowning  and these rituals are lifeboats


It’s a raging ocean inside my head

A head filled with dread making me wish I was dead

So I go back to bed and obsess instead

My ripped soul requires a needle and thread

8 stitches only please I said.


By Sara Blaylock