This diptych was written during a period of frustration with obsessive-compulsive disorder and the exhausting cycle of intrusive thoughts and compulsive rituals. Writing these poems became a coping skill: a way to give shape to experiences that often feel invisible and difficult to explain. The Phantom Vigil reflects the tightening grip of compulsion and rumination, while The Morning Reprieve explores moments of relief, resilience, and self-compassion. Together, the poems are less about recovery as a destination and more about enduring the cycle, loosening its hold, and finding moments of light within it.
"The Phantom VigilāØ
A phantom legion claims each chair,āØAnd casts microscopic shadows there.āØA heavy coating, thick and gray,āØThat water cannot rinse away.āØāØYou sanitize to make it clear,āØTo wipe away the phantom fear.āØThe hands repeat the frantic chore,āØThrough stinging burns and open sores.āØāØThe scald is hot, the soap is raw,āØSubmitting to an unseen law.āØThe skin turns red beneath the stream,āØTrapped inside a silent scream.āØāØYou stand beneath the pounding spray,āØTo scrub the stubborn ghost away.āØThe friction burns, the water slips,āØWhile silence locks your heavy lips.āØāØNo words are spoken, nothing said,āØThe raging war inside your head.āØYet phantom patterns start to grow,āØWhere simple water cannot go.āØāØA word you said, a future dread,āØA maze built deep within your head.āØThe skin is dried, a brief reprieve,āØA fragile truce you want to weave.āØāØThe gears lock tight, the mind spins fast,āØThe phantom thought repeats the last.āØThe trap resets, the loop stays tight,āØAnd back to the tap you go tonight."
āThe Morning ReprieveāØ
The phantom legion slinks away,āØDismissed beneath the morning rays.āØThe sunlight spills across the floor,āØTo soothe the sting of raw and sore.āØāØThe basin stands in quiet view,āØAs morning builds the world anew.āØYou pause before the silver rim,āØAnd hope the phantom thoughts will dim.āØāØThe scald is gone, the water cool,āØYou strive to break the rigid rule.āØThe skin is pink, the water clear,āØYou breathe against the lingering fear.āØāØYou look down at the heavy tap,āØAnd wish to leave the midnight trap.āØThe friction fades, the shadows part,āØA prayer for healing in the heart.āØāØNo words are spoken, none required,āØThe raging war is only tired.āØYou trace a path that might stay clear,āØWhere simple hope can venture near.āØāØThe future dread you try to ease,āØReplaced by early morning breeze.āØThe hands are dry, the air is clean,āØYou linger in the space between.āØāØThe gears unlock, the wheels run slow,āØYou wait for softer tides to flow.āØYou keep the loop from pulling tight,āØAnd wish this strength would last the night."