Trapped

A poem about my own struggles with OCD.

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1. Trapped

It's like

my own head

is my prison.

And its bars

are my eyes.

All these thoughts

not even worthy

to be thought of

let alone be memories.

I can never seem

to find strength

to push them away.

So they torment me

relentlessly.

Book. touch it.

No

but nobody listens

nobody cares.

How can I feel infinite

how can I be immortal

when these images

bar the way to my freedom?

The doors are locked

and I don't know

if there will ever be a key.

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