Demon engulfs me, enslaves me, and breaks me

Please stop repeating, regurgitating, recurring; You only stop when you suck the life out of me, You want me to cry and then die………….

The devil comes

He is back again, This time I gave up, for what’s the point of fighting an already done and dusted battle?

For I know the consequences, seeping synergy in opulence, it starts and starts, endlessly repeating till you run in the ramparts of justice and evaluate your identity, value systems, and your being.

It tramples the edifices you create, buildings you erect, and values you learn in a deep overlapping time and space linkage.

Things dissolve in length and form, resolving themselves to just a nascent form or is it even any form or an entity?

It deciphers meanings for you; twists, and takes reality for a twirling dance. You zoom in, and in; not feeling any of your hand's legs and face.

It forces you to become a slave, occupies your mind, and brainwashes you to become entrenched in its shackles of subinfeudation.

It orders you, here I come and here I say, for you to follow since there is no way other than my highway, in case you do not believe me I will break you to prove that I am right, for I have the right to be always right.

It threatens me of consequences, of obverse situations and recurring occurrences, yet every time your heart beats as if it's skipping a beat, engulfing a crazy deeper rhythm of death.

You feel like a tortured bruised slave, fearful, not having enough to be ready for the war where physicality is not a weapon but a liability, as you think about having physicality in this troubled soul is not worth your effort or your ability.

Slowly the churn thickens, mind envelopes a dark tangent and circles concentric, placed in skins of one on one. You lose voice, power, and freedom.

Everything you do is a question, and everything you see is an equation. Questions that are never-ending, palpitations that are heart-wrenching.

You move to a never-ending hole of infinite hyperbole.

Of past and present and the coming future, nothing is spared in this vast array of content in its pinnacle nomenclature; pages are drawn and views are sowed on the grasslands of knowledge.

A knowledge of doubt, even taking control of your very breathing rights.

I give up

For now peaceful music rings,

You have tried fighting your battles, and now you have stopped reliving the chatter.

There is misery, there is pain, and nothing stops and spreads like a wildfire, from facts to realistic conviction turns into an imaginary fiction with oppressive contradiction.

Beliefs, Thoughts, Stories, Tragedies, and never-ending sounds of silence envelop you as the darkness subsume and consume you.

You die in a living body, death consumes you one moment at a time, little, little, and foregoing the conviction, very little.

You are trying to reason, but it does not stop, it will cause your brain to suffer intense cloudiness to the point you will cry, for not being able to comprehend even how you breathe.

Stimulation and suffocation, the endless processing of stimuli of so many fears to deal with. Which one to choose and follow? And what do you repent?

You question your life, your sorrows, your ego, your crushing defeat penetrating your body by the brain uncharted, unfathomable amassing power that's getting your heart, organs, and lungs, little and little.

How harrowing have you become? You are a prisoner of your own organ.

Every time it comes, it numbs you. It pushes you to scream and hurt yourself, beats you to the ground, makes you crawl on the floor, and never provides any mercy.

You are now a living corpse, living in the necessities of eyeing spies, spies on your forehead, chin, at the back of your head. It has extended and grabbed you like a dark web that is gooey and sticky and snatches hard. You cannot get rid of it.

You can cry your heart, lungs, and your eyes out, swell and beat your hands on the wall, yet it is stubborn and it does not go away.

The final solution

Now since you have traveled to the moon and beyond to remove the sticky web that has latched onto your head and does not intend to get away like a leech on your bread.

It's a host of sorts that feeds on you. It eats off of you like tapeworms and tubeworms.

You don’t know who created it. But it crushes you, mauls you, pins you to the ground making you a crying sufferer even when on the outside you are tough like a brown bear.

It can shed all your hair, feed you raw blood, and kill you with its gore eyes, if at all it wants to kill you and suck off your blood and throw the bones out, it will. For that is happening, in silence.

You are melting unknown to your deeper self. You are in this dungeon; trapped in this hellhole. The question still remains when.

As I was mauled, decapitated, guillotined by my own musings; I can say it does not stop; you make peace with it.

Of slurping multiple tablets with mind-numbing ecstasy I get relief. Things start to fade, in the moments of an intense cry for justice and spirit.

To conquer it you start small. Stop, breathe, and believe; this shall also pass.

And believe me, it does pass, but after getting swallowed by the dark hole in its most utter intensity and being traveled through enormous reconfigurations.

All you need to do is feel it till you make peace with it. There will be the distorted face, the trauma of a damaged soul, and a thrown mutilated body with no aim or goal. But with time you will repair, little by little, till you become a powerful human.

This poem is a personal account of my struggles with Purely Obsessional OCD also known as Pure O. However, in recent times, with proper medication my issues have gotten better.

Thanks a lot for taking some precious time out of your schedule to read my work. If you like it, you can read some of the other poems I have linked below. I hope you have a great day! Thanks for stopping by!!!

Feeders of Flesh: Why don’t you introspect yourself?

He follows me…. here, there, and everywhere.

Looking for the faceless, ageless, and lifeless version of me