Each day
I wake to suffer
With a fear
Which drives me
Mad

As some new
And changing
Symptom
Of this sickness
Undefined

Like these weak
And trembling lips
Turning blue
From shallow
Breathing

When my heart
Which races quickly
Seeks to gain
Its second
Chance

Crushed beneath
That empty weight
Of a chest
Still beating
Heavy

Finding death
Is something easy
For this young
Yet tired
Life

Hardly sold
On futures past
By his fate
Now fast
Approaching

At the hands
Of dangerous feelings
Held within
One certain
Place

Deep inside
His swollen eyes
Closing soon
Despite
Their glimmer

Where redemption
Means believing
Passing time
Is pain
Deserved

Waiting long
For true relief
Only God
Can barely
Muster

While the hours
Take my spirit
And pretend
These minutes
Fade

Into hopes
As tiny grains
Blending flesh
With prayers
Expired

Out of torture
Called existence
Like this glass
Of falling
Sand.

– J. Pigno