Regularly Irregular

Tag this poem
Fatal –

My stunned
And mortal rhythm

From a heart
Which spoke
In tandem
With raw verse
So short
Of breath.

Each day
These final words

Sought relief

By telling
Nonsense

Thinking minds
Should grow
Enlightened

To one cause
I’ve deemed

Unsure:

This lethal dream
Called art,

Or that lie
We pray
Expresses

Such love
Too unrequited
For real
Proof
It should exist.

Believing now
I’m sick

While ignoring
Every answer
As some monster
Fear created
Deep within
My swollen
Head.

How aches
May never
Cease
When their pulse
So damn
Discordant

Throbs distinctly
Within tempo
Of this cadence

Marked
For death.

Each vein
Blue and pronounced

Like bold phrases
I might suffer

Protrudes out
Above both
Eyelids

Letting doctors
Laugh
At truth.

They never
Could agree
On what symptom
Was authentic,

Which pain
Was more than
Lyrics

Of that song
I played

Inside.

And yet
Their diagnosis
Falters hard

Where music
Lingers,

Though I contest
Barely matters

Knowing fate
Had other plans.

Stuck souls
Will go and read
These old ravings
As pure gospel-

All my suffering
Unintended
As their bible
Of lost
Faith.

With that
I can agree
Is a suited end

Unquestioned.

No rebel
Wins
From trying.

I always
Wrote
Half-assed.

– J. Pigno

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