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.

by: Andyroo

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