obsessions are part of me,
a mere fracture of my broken mind.
i find myself falling most of the time,
into a dark deep pit i cannot escape.
in this dark deep pit,
i indulge my latest desires,
and i read and read and read
until my eyes grow weary.
is it such a bad thing,
or the brief obsessions i am compelled with
to throw myself wholeheartedly
into whatever my heart desires?
they strip my life away from me to this one object,
the apple of my eye,
and i am loathe to remain its prisoner
for the rest of my life.
perhaps i am going mad,
and the fractures within me
are splitting at the seams
and spitting and foaming at the mouth.
but my obsessions…
they find where ever I go.
and, here I wait.
compelled by their command.