Mental Illines Is Not Catching Poem by Robin Bennett

Today was bedlam, mixed with rain-
our family shot and aiming
at me-
Your words are hollow point
bullets. They explode inside
of me. Ripping apart
what little remains.

The uninterested three
musketeers. Yelling
how I am an annoyance
and should be has been exiled,
and excommunicated from
our false church.

I'm an nothing but an
angry house guest.
Ruled with with
an iron fist
and vile
words. Never can
I decide if being
ignored is bliss.
It does sound
like a mute
friend.

Once you made me
try to die. I failed.
Pills and Jack Daniels
let me down. Why you
took me to see the
man in the white
coat, I shall never know.
Full of charcoal, they
pumped the poison
out of
me.

Now I had a three day
shift at the local
mental hospital.
Shuffling along
in my cotton
pajamas and
clutching my
cigarettes for dear life,
I played their game.
Even sane people
do not wake at
six in the
morning.
Days of drab meetings,
silly painting with
long since dead
watercolors, and
ancient self help
videos.
Ah, bed time.
My roommate
called for
Jesus all
night.
Shut up!
He's certainly not
in this hell hole.
Finally my seventy two
hours of captivity
came to an end.
My family kept
their distance
as if mental
illness was
catching.
They treat me
like a ghost.
I wonder if
anyone would
even realize if
I was
dead.