OCD
Eleven-thirty in the morning
And I’m still in bed,
Clothes stinking like a dumpster,
My hair matted to my head.
There’d be paper everywhere
But for the note app on my phone;
Still there’s bottles on the floor
To remind me I’m alone.
Now it’s two-fifteen in the afternoon.
Guess what, still smell like shit,
But I swept and mopped the floors,
So you could say I’m handling it.
Feeling proud of myself for doing
Simple things everyone else does
Helps to ward off suicide.
Why is that? Because
My OCD’s got a hold on me
I try to fight, but I’m too wrong to right.
My OCD’s got a hold on me
Think I’ll go back and lay down in bed.
Up again, but now I’m avoiding mirrors,
And pushing off shit I’m distressed at,
‘Cause making myself a human callous
Is the thing that I am best at.
Unfinished writing and piled up chores
Are technically better than doing drugs
Even though I’m pretty sure I need a sedative
And why is that? Because
My OCD’s got a hold on me
I try to fight, but I’m too wrong to right.
My OCD’s got a hold on me
Think I’ll go play some video games.
I’ve never read a book anybody recommended
Just passing time until another day’s ended.
Worrying my closest friends is what I do best
You know, I think I might be depressed.
Hours pass. It’s after midnight,
I’m hiding in my room.
After all that time that passed
Throughout the day, you might assume
That I checked things off my todo lists,
That I finished every line,
That I was more useful than writing
“You’re an asshole” down a dozen times,
Or staring off into space,
Or recalling the me that was.
But hey, tomorrow is another day
Though I’ll probably just fuck that up too.
Because
My OCD’s got a hold on me
I try to fight, but I’m too wrong to right.
My OCD’s got a hold on me
‘Cause of my grief and shame,
Though I’m really to blame.
My OCD’s got a hold on me
As I watch the morning rise.
You’ve got another day coming your way
Put the phone down. Close your eyes.
