Its Only Words

Shed ink instead of blood
As unattended thoughts leads to anguish,
Congruent flowed words speak truth
And the Pain will disperse fluently through the letters,
Tear drops will fall, producing the ink to run
Spilling a web of blackness telling it’s own story,
A minor irritation to tolerate
As words from a emotive heart cannot lie,
They reflect back to a strangers eyes
Strengthening with every view,
Their breath will shallow as reality of your painted picture plays out,
deftly speaking to the reader,

Echoes of hurt touch the senses that play on the soul
Communicating deeply in every language,
Emotions speak blindly, never restraining
Or releasing it’s power,
Books are alive as you and I
as long as it’s written it breathes.
Release the pain by solidifying unguarded thoughts
Describe hell as it’s seen uniquely,
Mental stigma is immortal through the ages
In our history people expressed in words of code
Composing life as if you’re embedded on the pages
Guarantees in time your story will be told.

Take A Breath

Stop asking the minds begs, when a person who doesn’t really care asks how you feel. The routine and rehearsed speech kicks in. Explaining that you’re fine and finishing off with a painted smile.

The person knows you speak false truth, and inside they breathe a sigh of relief that they don’t have to hear about your issues, or in their eyes, issues that don’t really exist.

This scene plays out a thousand times over a life time.

The magic happens when you find someone who genuinely cares and listens, and the switch in your mind decides to speak the truth.

The Flood

OCD is in the top ten most debilitating illnesses in the world. It dictates manipulates and seduces you to think you’re saving a life, doing good and being healthy.

Truth, it’s killing the sanity of the host. Feeding its vanity that it’s valued and needed with every compulsion. I wouldn’t wish it on my worst enemy. Don’t underestimate how it affects someone. It consumes the soul, an actual living hell being acted out day by day.

It exaggerates life for the host to act out it’s pleasures.

It controls and scares you into believing it’s reality. When the anxiety of an obsession hits, it’s like a flood to the head…

The Flood.

Back and forth in doorways
Three o’clock deep in the night
In and out my body swayed
Not sleeping to I felt just right
Turning lights on and off
Turning taps so much tighter
Wearing six tops in summer
Staring at a torch, turning it brighter
Under all these layers this is me
I’m no different, I just have OCD

Not stepping on the carpet
Paining myself and cutting my hair
Putting clothes on again and again
The same ones for a week, I have to wear
Light switches too and thro’
Washing rehashed and flung about
Walking backwards on the football field
I’m saving the world ain’t no doubt
Under all these layers this is me
I’m no different I just have OCD

Not able to read or write normal
Repeating words and crossing off
Having compulsions in school exams
Having to blink, having to cough
The school tie was pulled up tight
Along with the top button on my shirt
Couldn’t breath and sweated badly
Doesn’t make sense, it really hurt

A Life dictated by numbers
With fear, dread and impending doom
Imagination susposed to be a gift
But for me more like a living tomb

No-one ever asked, people’s reality different to mine
Became an expert in hiding, so bittersweet divine
Stuck in an endless, ignorant cycle of fright
Cant love, leave,or live until the feeling feels just right.