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