Sunday, July 5, 2009

Mentally Ill
By Amanda R. Blodgett

First, you don’t give a
Shit about eating.
The food on your plate
Is an enemy.
It only sustains a life
Not worth living.

Then you haunt the
Night like a ghost.
Who needs sleep
When your dead?

You are not
Brushing your teeth
Combing your hair
Or being conscious.

Finally, your actions
Are not yours.
You wonder aimlessly
Already gone.


  1. This reminds me of my breakdown in 1994. Brings back many emotions.

  2. You have, very elegantly, described what it is like. Your poetry is very good, Lady A.

  3. Drifter, I am glad that my poem brought emotions. That's what poetry or any art is supposed to do.

    Charlie, Thank you for saying my poetry is very good. I try!