Our minds
Make detailed maps
Where fear
Finds emptier spaces
And lingering thoughts
Drawing pictures
In place of truth
Telling tales

Like something real
When it’s not
Or narratives sought
Feeling needed
When believing lies
Better suited
To ignoring pain
We suppress

If pursuing dreams
Never lost
But denied deep down
Merely waiting
For another excuse
Barely noticed
Under rituals held
Without choice

Taking joy from days
Spent obsessed
With meaningless chores
Missing answers
Revolving around
Simple pleasures
Whose questions posed
Trigger doubt

Just opening doors
Always there
Beneath this skin
Nearly cracking
At banging one’s head
Against faces
So unique
Yet similarly scarred

That reflect their hope
Long denied
Still believing scenes
Which keep playing
Like film reels looped
Now distorted
By a focus
The present has maimed.

• J. Pigno