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  You are @ HomeAdults Poetry


Source: Adults

Author: jonny graham

Title: Compulsive Disorder .

The newborn yolk of dawn spills ochre
through the rolling clouds of another day .
But I don't care about Natures wonder
when I am sixty eight hours into
another marathon of never ending
repetitive compulsive disorder .

You think that you're so clever ,
coccooned in you're self-constructed world .
Thrilled by you're pre-meditated impulses
and percieved security of daily routines .
But if you knew about my secret life
you would double-check you're fragile dreams .

Light on , light off , countless times .
Check every switch , every power socket .
Test the door locks constantly for reassurance .
Verify all the window locks are closed ,
time and time and time again .
Wash my hands , scrub them to the bone .

Line up everything precisely , using rulers ,
then check and double check just in case .
Then start again at the beginning ,
making sure nothing moved slightly out of place .
Rinse my stinging hands in bleach
and scrub a scourer on my face .

Corruscating tidal waves of fear grip me .
Suffocating folds of raw panic cloak me .
Walk with me to the edge of the precipice ,
look over the edge into the maw of madness .
I cannot stop , I am not finished .
Complete exhaustion is a death cold kiss .

Test every radio station , three times at least .
Test every t.v. channel , every option on the p.c.
Then start on the light switches and locks again .
Repetition is the nature of this compulsive beast ,
The agony of wash and scrub again ,
click on , click off , then line up all the keys .

Flip , flap ; the daily batch of letters arrives ,
landing haphazard on the perfectly aligned hallway mat .
Using rubber gloves and barbeque tongs ,
pick it all up and put it in the microwave
for a thirty second full-power sterilizing zap .
Then precisely place it on the unopened postal stack .

Make sure the telephone works correctly ,
listen for a dialling tone twenty times or more .
Overwhelmed by fractures of frustration ,
spend fifteen minutes pacing the disinfected floor .
Scrub my hands untill they crack and bleed ,
bang my aching head against the spy hole in the door .

Test everything continuously , relentlessly .
Untill my emotions lose all feeling .
Don't eat , don't sleep , don't stop .
Compulsive disorder has got me now ,
in it's heartless vice-like grip ,
and time and place have lost all meaning .

Published on writebuzz®: Adults > Poetry

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