I’m writing
Without any reason
Other than faking
Real talent
So far from my own
Merely evident
By the fact these words
Must repeat

Yet again as portrayed
Over stanzas
Always counting their lies
Neatly hidden
Left adjacent and dull
Lacking purpose
Beyond forcing belief
There is some

Left behind old lines
Grown redundant
Like that one misuse
Still too many
Which haunts each phrase
Missing context
Through an instance lost
In this grief

But remembered now
For a moment
Hiding blatant truths
Long forbidden
When expressing pasts
Never questioned
Until pushing them out
While repressed

Since hope feels numb
After praying
Even more than dreams
Sitting stagnant
Until vaguest terms
Offer subtext
If translating prose
Barely read

At least where eyes
Can perceive it
Yet exposed through breath
Seeming voiceless
Feeling deaf
Despite being noticed
For failing hard
Every time.

• J. Pigno