Mild OCD:A single thought spiral

 
“Penny for your thoughts.”  
 
…  in a single open-shut of my eyes I take the penny and….  
 
 
 
Don’t eat that, don’t eat that, don’t eat that,  
my god how much do you weigh, weigh,  
how much does it weigh,
it’s 14 ounces but it has to be 12
 
12
 
12  
 
Today.
 
So I can divide it by four.
 
I wish I knew why.
 
Not that song. Not that song.  
Fuck, I hate that song,  
and I’m awake at 3 a.m.  
listening to the refrain  
over and over and over and
 
Why. Why did you.  
Was it me, it was me, it’s always me.  
I missed a line and it was my fault,  
I did this.  
I can’t not feel hot rage  
when you do normal shit because,  
because, because,  
I know it was my fault,  
and I hate myself so
 
Fucking.  
 
Much.
 
Perfect.
 
I. Am. Perfect.
 
Or I am nothing.
 
Size 4 is a perfect integer.
Run. Run more. Run faster.  
 
I can’t fail. I can’t fail. I can’t fail
Say it 12 times.
Today.
 
Don’t pick your.
Nails.
Hair.
Lashes.
You pay too much for them.
 
I wasn’t perfect.
It wasn’t perfect.
You aren’t perfect.
 
I can’t can’t can’t can’t c
A
    N
t
 
I can run 12 more minutes, miles hours, days, today.
 
Pain is perfect.
 
I am in love with myself
in pain.  
Narcissus and  
razor-blade daffodils.
I can’t look.  
I can’t look.
 
I can’t look away.
 
I tore the muscle.  
I deserved it.  
I can work harder.
Work harder.
Go harder.
It’s harder.
I’m weak.
I’m sick.
I’m…  
 
So. Fucked. Up.
 
(I’ll never be good enough)
 
I have to be.
 
Silence. Shhhhhhh…
Pinpoint a nebula in a black hole.
 
What are you doing  
who  
are you with is  
she better  
than me
Better than me
Better  
 
Better
 
Not that song, make it stop. make it stop.  
I love you. I’m sorry.
I love you. I’m sorry.
I don’t know why I can’t  
love people right.  
I’m broken
Broken
Broke
 
Shhhhhh
Silence  
Pinpoint, pinpoint, pinpoints  
in the skycap star umbrella and I haven’t
moved for four hours
 
Four is a perfect integer.  
But it’s not, it’s not,
two and three are perfect integers,  
and that’s proof I’m flawed,  
I can divide myself
 
Divide myself  
 
Divide in  
Smaller
Parts
 
Little boxes of each one  
and a normal face mask,
normal face;
Normal face
in the box next to the
Sephora lip oil
 
They know.
They know I don’t belong here,
they know I don’t belong
they’re going to stand up and point and
 
It’s too loud
It’s too quiet
It’s that fucking Taylor Swift song that makes me think about him.
 
Not him not him not him
 
Focus.
 
Shhhhhhh
Silence.
Pinpoint. Spotlight at light speed.
I haven’t moved in hours.
 
Spring into crazed momentum  
unwilling to sit,
to stay,
and I run ragged-ass  
crazed like a reanimated corpse
until the little black dots in my eyes
tell me I forgot  
something important  
 
eating? sleeping? taking a multivitamin?
 
You. It’s you.  
 
So I stalk you,  
and hate you,  
and love you,  
and wish I didn’t have to have  
a slow-down routine  
so I could watch you exist for another hour
 
I have to turn my brain off so
 
Sllllooooowwwlllyyyy  
 
or it’s more
did I leave the stove on even though I don’t cook, and is the freckling on my skin from being outside disgusting, is it cancer. is it cancer. is it cancer. fuck that song. I wish I could at least hear all of it instead of the eight same words. it divides by four at least, so that’s nice. did he leave me. did you leave me. did I push too hard this time. did he see my feet. did you find out I’m not perfect.
Not perfect
Not perfect
 
Not that song. not that song
 
Where are you.  
Did I chase you away like I meant to.  
I didn’t mean it,  
didn’t mean it  
I just had to.
 
I’m acid-rain toxic.  
And your skin is so beautiful.
 
I want you to love me  
so I can try to mimic the expression,  
but I just feel big things,  
and they don’t divide so I leave.
 
So I leave.
 
I leave because
I don’t know how to stay  
when it’s too hard,  
the noise gets silent  
and I can’t today,  
because I ache for you.
 
It’s you. Just you. Just you.  
Your name is the song,  
and the slogan on the cereal box,  
and the jingle on the station,
and every minute spent  
away from you is a spiral of spiritual meaning in which the answer is agony,  
and it hurts to be separated for moments,  
for moments,  
and I’m lonely together  
in new ways,  
and I hate the way  
I’m weak for you,  
and I love you
love you love you  
but  
 
I don’t
Know
How
 
and I am addicted to the way it hurts.
 
I would pull my hair out
by the roots to make it stop,
Make it stop.
Make it stop.
 
But I just got my hair done.
 
And the song comes on…
Fuck!  
 
Hot anguish in my stomach,
and rage feels like love.
Feels like love
Feels like fear
 
I am anxious when you comfort me.
I can’t relax when we’re fine.  
We won’t be fine.  
The sky will fall into a sinkhole of us.  
It feels like madness the more I cling to you,  
and I can’t breathe unless we’re both drowning, both drowning,
and I love to pull us under  
because reuniting is the  
only time I feel real.  
 
shhhhhh
Silence
Pinpoint
Focus  
 
Punching through the  
atmosphere in a  
chest-lock with no sound.
 
I haven’t moved.
 
I can’t move.
 
I scream still silence  
through my pores, and
put on fake eyelashes
and practice a smile in the
microwave door
instead of a mirror or  
a poisoned selfie
 
I can’t look at myself.
Don’t look at me.
Don’t look at me.
 
I’m not a perfect integer after all.