Four White Walls

Walls. Four. White. Walls. Closing Closing in on me The inexplicable and inadmissable impulse to remain trapped, imprisoned, I'm indentured by the four white walls that suffocate me They vow to continue closing in on my mind as long as I remain attentive to the whiteness of the walls, The whiteness of the floor, The blankness of the ceiling. A door, perhaps? No. A door would be cheating I can't cheat on these four white walls that have known me for so long, Grew up with me, raised me, The inexplicable and inadmissable urge to remain indentured by four, white. Walls. And I ask myself, I wonder, Why do these white walls feel like home? Why would I rather remain imprisoned by the blankness (this is a poem about my diagnosed OCD)