Back Room

I’ll die alone
Back here,

And to think
That’s so damn peaceful-

As some might call it,

Knowing silence
Will always agree.

This spot feels
Suitably cold,

Quite dim
Even with windows,

Yet noticeably large
From perspectives
Sprawled on the couch
Where I sit.

My hope’s too small
For this space.

My faith’s too weak
To remember

Why anyone
Suffering with boredom
Would expect their life
To just change.

I’m a jerk,
Rebellious but numb –

Idle as sin
Without meaning,

A failure whose poems
Count letters
Between periods
Stealing each breath.

I’m a weakling,
Deservedly caged
Inside these walls
Fear has chosen

Long before days
Became senseless
Carrying guns
To shoot germs.

What a joke
Expecting relief
Since verse
Abandons its meter
When talent has failed
Forcibly pushed
Towards success.

Now let me choke
Upon dust

Floating through air
Getting stiffer,

Telling you all
There is freedom
Locked behind doors
Waiting long.

I’m writing down things
I want mocked,

Seen by those
Giving fingers,

Hurting sick men
Sharing nothing
But miseries
Fitting their guilt.

I’m not dumb,
Only nuts –

Seeming that stupid

Believing my heart
Will stop beating

Before authority
Kills me first.

Maybe my words
Deserve hate,

Lost like prayers
Never answered.

Penance in rooms
Become coffins.

I’m another fool
Clutching his chest.

  • J. Pigno

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