I’d do anything
Not to write
Or face these thoughts
Which linger
At the back of my mind
When avoiding fears

On a whim of speech
I’ve chased
In haste
From feeling lazy
And pursuing words
As these truths
Made insincere

During bouts
My silence breaks
Left alone
Where phrases envy
All this damage
Sitting pretty
Within lines
I cannot seize

Like expressions
Wearing thin
Findings holes
Instead of bridges
Losing answers
Down their crevice
That extends
Towards quiet death

Leaving bones
So far beneath
Highest ground
Of said intention
Marking sand
With failed exposure
To reveal
My deepest self

Passing ribs
And rotted flesh
Among rocks
Which hide my carcass
Empty now
Of bloody meaning
From such art
This desert claims.

Down its gap
I’ve finally

Just a skeleton
I’ve become.

– J. Pigno


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