Feb 03

Obsessive Compulsive

One day, she fell apart
The sunset on the edge of a tear
Burning red, like the leaves
Of the autumn that it was.
And that night, she slept.
She slept for seven months,
Reeling in dreams with her lies.
After seven months, she woke up.
And they were real dreams, not dreamt as real—
She could finally breathe.
But then it happened.
Drunk driver on icy night
There was no grace in the way
It skidded past the driveway
And flew into Hell.
Outside the leaves were budding
Breathing new life into every step,
But there was no budding breath in the way she bled that night—
Her mind came back,
And the thoughts broke into the house she built that fall without a foundation.
This time she welcomed the intruder as an old friend,
Stretched out her arms to death,
And said,
“Don’t take me as I am—take me slowly.
Let me melt; piece by fabricated piece
Into the arms you built from the thoughts that don’t exist.
The arms you built from the obsessions that stole my nights and numbered my days.
The arms that I want to fall into when my mind is broken.
Those arms broke it—I might not ever get it back.”
And then—slowly, she began to wake up again.
She hit snooze for every rotation around the earth,
Washing away the sins of the past—
This time she used soap, not whiteout—
Not the bleach she wanted to drown herself in.

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