O.C.D
OCD
My thoughts repeat like echoes I can’t outrun or see.
A restless mind chained tight
To what it thinks must be.
I check,
I count,
I question every step I’ve worn.
A quiet war inside me from the moment I am born.
But strength still whispers softly,
Even when I’m unsure,
There’s more to me than patterns.
I am deeper than this disorder.
P
O.C.D
