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OCD

By Catherine Moscatt

Artwork by Alli Rowe


1,2,3

21, 22

I touch the spine of each notebook as I count

It’s the fourth time tonight

And I should be asleep

My very soul exhausted

From the constant stress

My mind won’t let me rest

I’m tired

Because it’s 3 am and  I should be asleep but instead I am rooting through my hamper, desperate to find that one shirt, to make sure it’s still there

My mind plays games with me

I thought we would both outgrow them: we haven’t

Tickles in the back of my mind turn into obsessions, into compulsions

A descent into irrational behavior

And with it comes the darkness

The darkness

Makes it hard to remember

That light exists at all

1, 2, 3

I wish I could count myself into reassurance, into relief

But I don’t think I can count that high


Published inPoetry

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