I’ve got
No blood to lose
Or carry
These feelings stifled
Across my body
Rotting
From ambitions
Stunted with waste

Decaying
As idle sickness
Festers
With aching passions
Destroying
Rebel tissues
While dangerously
Making me wait

Forcing
This startled hand
By fears
And bile building
Into killing
Such written medicines
After willing
My own demise

Numbing
This only cure
To remedy deaths
Experienced
Within dreams
So utterly nauseous
They demand
Reality wakes

Out of answers
Caked in shit
Or potentials
Laced with vomit
And necessities
Detrimental
Like the illness
Called our lives –

For terms
Are just disease
And claims
Of deadening tissues
Consuming hopes
Around me
As they beckon
Imminent death

Gangrened
Without choice
Or the proof
Of God unwilling
To confirm
His final miracle
Which raises flesh
From pits

Leaving things
Still unknown
To create that art
Resilient
Which begs
For keeping relevant
Before my time
Can pass.

– J. Pigno