Whispers of the Soul

OCD

Whispers of Doubt

In the quiet of morning, when shadows still creep,
Whispers begin to stir, stealing thoughts from my sleep.
Soft as a breeze, they flutter and sway,
Sowing seeds of confusion, like shadows at play.

"Did you lock the door?" one voice gently sighs,
"Did you turn off the stove?" it lingers and pries.
Each question a ripple, a stone in the stream,
A nagging reminder of a fractured dream.

"Count all your steps," another voice weaves,
"Trace back your path; don't let go of the leaves."
It echoes like thunder, relentless and stark,
A symphony of worry, igniting the dark.

With every tick of the clock, they whisper their lies,
Painting pictures of chaos with their piercing cries.
"Are you sure you're safe? Did you check once again?"
The whispers conspire, like a tempest of rain.

In the corners of reason, they twist and they curl,
An insidious dance, like a whirlpool they twirl.
"Maybe you forgot, maybe you're not right,
What if the world crumbles if you stay out of sight?"

They creep into moments of stillness and grace,
Turning certainty into a perilous chase.
"Don't trust your own mind; it's played tricks before,"
The whispers grow louder, a cacophony of war.

I fight against currents, against tides that don't yield,
As these whispers of doubt hold my heart in a field.
With each choice I make, I second-guess me,
A puppet of chaos, ensnared in the spree.

Yet within the storm, a flicker of light,
A thought that whispers back, "You can win this fight."
What if I dared to silence the swarm?
To find strength in the chaos, to weather the storm?

So I gather my courage, I take a deep breath,
And face the whispers, confront the shadow of death.
Each step toward freedom, a victory to claim,
As I rewrite my story and reclaim my own name.

With each passing moment, I'll silence the doubt,
For within me lies power that refuses to shout.
And though the whispers linger, I'll stand tall and proud,
Embracing the quiet, breaking free from the crowd.