Enough Dead Flowers Poem by Robin Bennett

Life has locked me inside my own tortured mind-
bleakly depressed
emotionally whipped
battle scars of life have forced me to
retreat-
From a shell shocked life.
Sadly, I have no desire for my husband
or my grown children

Safety comes in espresso walls-
that drink in the pain and fear
which sneak inside. Just one more
little white pill to quench the
chasing anxiety, I have never
been able to run from since-

Death came to visit more
often than the religious
boys on their bicycles.
Preaching goodness to a
choir with nothing left but a few
choice words for them and their
no coffee ways. Preach in your
own square shaped state, why
don't cha? Leave us heathens alone.

I'm broke from planning funerals,
and own enough dead flowers to
make a lovely bouquet for the devil himself.

I feel crucified now. I've cut my wrist before,
another failure. That handful of pills that
looked like skittles and many glasses of
Jack let me down, too. I can't even die
right. Don't tell me God has a plan for me.
If this is it, tell him I'm miserable and I want out.