Fuck, I feel like Hephaestus with
crippling thoughts running races,
spinning webs and laces, touching
all the bases in a mind seeking stasis.
Like intruders, they’ve thrown rocks
at the glass home I thought was made
of stone, shattering every bone sewn
and grown into my ego’s fragile throne.
The car’s going ninety, open the door.
The paved floor will hurt but they’re
so sure I deserve to be sore. Guts,
gore and more; all that’d remain of
the man I was before.
The ledge is only a few stories in height,
but if I fall right I just might illuminate
the night with sirens and the sight of
bright ambulance lights.
[Disclaimer: This has nothing to do with being suicidal, intrusive thoughts are commonplace amongst people with OCD and this pretty much sums up mine.]
