No one believes
I am sick ,

And perhaps
That’s part of the illness –

Forever ignored
Despite pleading
For assistance from pain
They can’t see.

My days
Are an endless threat
Of combatting
Various symptoms
Whose invisible scars
Always surface
Without any
Obvious cause –

A war on life
Leaving marks
Hidden by looks
Seeming youthful
Yet aging beneath
Holding secrets
This heartbeat alone
Only tells,

Irregular
Though it survives
Defying skips
More persistent
Than dwindling hope
Hardly faithful
God may change
What’s to come.

Waking up
Means trying again
At appointments
Where laughs remain common
While doctors uphold
Their appearance
So tomorrow proves
Emptier still.

Today,
Another place hurts,

Not like before
But unusual,

Feeling too sore
Beyond normal –

How many things
Can get worse?

• J. Pigno