Somewhere
In there
Is a person
Pretending
He’s really
Alive.

When the truth
In fact
Is much different –

Sadly,
He’s already
Gone.

Never
A part of
This place,
For the days
And meaning
Escape him

Where faith
Is hardly
His constant

But the pain
Just always
Exists

As a failing
Wish
Which demands
Each hour
Pass
Even slower

Maintaining
Guilt as his
Reason

Without prayer
Or choice
To remain.

Yes,
Such breath
Is a shame
If chance
Is better off
Wasted –

That man
Within
Is a carcass,

And soul
A mirror
He breaks.

– J. Pigno