It’s too hard
Pretending I’m dead
When deserving more
Than just silence
On receiving ends
Being punished
Through those left numb
By such words

Or my actions
Feeling quite right
Despite what truths
Are intended
In each empty phrase
Only finished
Fighting nervous whims
Unrelieved

Seeking penance
So misunderstood
After failing life
Chasing whimsy
But cutting out friends
Though admitting
Their blessings
Hurt even worse

For a man
Who could barely achieve
Preserving love
While she waited
Yet squandering faith
Letting illness
Murder every hope
They had built

Watching science
Still torture his muse
Deep inside that soul
Full of questions
Finding God Himself
Never answers
Where math alone
May provide

If eternal fears
Should exist
Since expression
Borders damnation
Behind lonely walls
Getting comfortable
Worried at night
Without rest.

• J. Pigno