New (Ab)Normal

I’m caught between
Death and fiction
Where my days feel
All the more meaningless
As time blends now
With experience
Shared on a screen
Sitting still,

While idling well
In that room

Having captive dreams
Fear imprisoned

Inside this house
Become canvas
Leading painted lies
Believed true –

Those colorful tales
During sleep
When freedom leaves
Fleeting impressions
Across short nights
Spent escaping
No awakened mind
Could express

Pressing buttons
Or clicking these keys,

Wishing hands held flesh
Over plastic,

Scratching at glass
Showing numbers
Mistaken for words
We once knew.

Every need
Grows increasingly ill

Since our lasting sins
Always bargain
Hope is worth what debt
Greed develops,

Getting bigger
Yet somehow too small –

Fitting pockets
Tucked behind souls
Such tinier toys
Keep connected,

By threads unseen
Though invasive,

Like emptiest lives
Entertained.

  • J. Pigno

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