Volume 11 Issues 3 March, 2021
A poem on Obsessive Compulsive Disorder
Specks of dust, here and there
And now it’s getting too hard to bear
Searching for a broom and a mop,
a dust bin and a few bottles of soap.
An hour has passed and it’s crystal clean
Just like; how it should have been.
Swelling with happiness and pride,
I rest the mop to the side.
Slip and to the floor it fell
And it somehow rang a bell.
Listening to the noise it led
To the dancing dust bunnies under my bed
0
0
