This is a short poem expressing my compulsion to write and create, It was written during a surge of ideas and poems came to be.

The insanity of the disease of control.

OCD is a very serious condition.

You feel love in your heart.

A lover obsessed with their partner.

Poem about the love of a timepiece.

OCD is a vicious circle.

There is a problem when you start feeling like things have feelings. Intellectually you know they don’t have feelings, but the thought of them sitting lonely and abandoned in some dump or recycling station breaks your heart. Thrift shops feel like a field of lost dreams. However, clutter can take over your life and prohibit your dreams. (PS The images are not from my own cluttered place or of me.)

Compulsion explosion.

Beware of things you are not sure of.