Piker Press — Weekly Journal of Arts and Literature
April 27, 2026

Get Out

"...They think I have lost my mind...."

Get Out

I talk to myself.
It gives the doctor a job to do.
I think I am rich.
The truth is I do not have a job.

The doctor takes notes.
I show him my FBI badge.
No one believes me.
They think I have lost my mind.

I have a temper.
I say hurtful things when upset.
I talk to the nurse.
I ask her if she thinks I am crazy.

I am here alone.
I am ready to go home. My mind
plays tricks on me. I
watch everyone else being let out.

I must get out.
The doctor brings out the worst
in me. I have to
get out. I don't like the medicine.

The judge keeps me here.
They shove pills down my throat.
I do not like them.
The doctor is getting rich off me.






Article © Luis Cuauhtemoc Berriozabal. All rights reserved.
Published in the January 24, 2022 issue .
Image(s) are public domain.
More by Luis Cuauhtemoc Berriozabal → More poetry → Full issue →
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