Five swipes on house tables.
Four sprays on doors.
Three wet floors.
Two vacuums.

Whispers heard.
Inside and out.
Never clean, never free.
Trapped in a constant cycle.
Blurred world.
Frantic hands.
Extreme perfectionism.
Repetitive compulsions.

Order is a must.
Come on please just-
Precise and particular.
Broad and lenient.
Don’t stop.
Please stop.

Sudden and slow,
Colour had leapt away.
Pleasure holding its hand.
Their desertion leaving me hollow.

Then came Despair sadistically grinning.
Hands twitching with mischief,
Clutching the shackles adorning my wrists.
Cackling laughter fills the swamp

Monotony also waving in greeting.
A sensuous call of a siren beckons.
Closer, come closer.
Follow, follow me.

I entered their pallid palace,
I settled in the swamp.
I could not find the exit.
I remain alone and desolate.

Relief spreading at the uncontaminated counter.
Disgust overtaking as wide eyes watch.
Gripping the clean corner.
Nails digging in.
Pain piercing.

One. Two. Three.
It begins again.
It never ended.
It never will.

A gentle tug – from a child
grubby and bubbly.
Long forgotten and left behind,
In fog draped swamplands.
Then she smiles, mirthful and radiant.
It will—

Written by Ermina Tajik. Edited by Ellen Wang. Published on 18/05/2019. Header image courtesy Rafael De Nadai via Unsplash

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1 Comment

  1. Disclaimer: This based on research about OCD, so it’s not based on anyone exactly. Just the symptoms. Apologies if anything is unrealistic.

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