Obsessive Compulsive Disorder Poems - Poems about Obsessive Compulsive Disorder

The monumental bane of OCD - obsessive compulsive disorder As origin of *****Sapien species surged ahead, harboring nascent predominance asper said primate reproductively bred, (albeit via incremental fits and starts) evolutionary forebears didst dread Tom Tom Club former members an American new wave band founded in 1981 by husband-and-wife team Chris Frantz and Tina Weymouth as a side project from Talking Heads, rocketing them to...

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Siege warfare (trumpeting) average joe biden his time linkedin with aberrant behavior transpires within me mind, (not just today December 5th, 2020, but everyday/365) warrants depleting stockpile arsenal constituting exhausting mental health uprooting deep seated repellent pesky daunting lost cause. Overruled by irrational thoughts, I feebly muster a lame duck half quacked comeback (think home team cheering at pep rally) against analogous figurative agents provocateur said nemesis bore down hard upon...

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I generally mean mine mien mental state moost occasions heavily marinated stupor long established as external trait psychologically time tested trooper impossible mission to kickstart sanity doppelgänger regularly revisits his soul asylum hellbent antimatter he cannot vitiate despite therapeutic laxative merely exhausts well bred literate smoking doobie brother eliminating aforementioned pablum witnessed courtesy one floundering grouper among plenty of fish schooled hyphenated (high finned haggled) burn hushed scaled poem courtesy one...

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Obsession, Fears, Anxiety, Waking the mind of the suffering, Losing the comfort of Normalcy, Gaining the feeling of Confusion about one's own mind. My thoughts and fears haunt me, Feeling as though I might never close my eyes again And feel the comfort of blissful dreams....

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Every effort must pass through the peel like orange the desired is the only way, there’s no range and having a taste difficult to be bargained for any exchange thus, anything other than perfection is mange. Doing it right is limited, just doing becomes strange giving a helping hand to keep things arranged is like putting a spoilt urban model in...

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I feel uprooted like a tree from the ground I feel like my world has been turned upside down I feel like a blind man with no eyeballs in his socket I feel like I'm on welfare with no money in my pocket I feel like there's no end to the pain I feel as if the sun will become...

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There I’ve said it out loud Having it does not make me proud I get obsessed with certain things Like writing poetry or buying rings I change my compulsions now and then Sometimes it just happens on a whim I might want to go to yard sales every week To buy old things that I will want to keep Or go shopping for...

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