Waste Magnet

April 24, 2018

I…

I may have been a bitter fiend, but behind that confessional screen, secrets were given that I too never wanted, swear I saw love there you later denied and never vaunted, once my sickness became clear.
Could not even get those basic handwritten letters, credits paid to lesser debtors, everywhere you all would go, sacred places I would never know, you make me feel horrible about my fear.

Meanwhile outside the din of voices, retconning my disaster era choices, the proverbial sticks, and zones, that in a speech to others, soil my bones, what will make those little mice cease?
So add those little lifelong gashes together, plus surviving my location’s severe weather, everyone says to seek delight, but every time I find a reason to fight, I just fold myself into another crease.

Seems this magnet only attracts eventual waste, so rather then more pain I will wear this face, hide wounded without a trace, radio silence in haste, hung jury and no damn case, yeah it is me who misplaced, but also me who has to live with what the others never said out loud and my own damn disgrace at wearing the mask.
Thomas Spychalski 

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Question

April 24, 2018

There are many words in my head but I dare not write them,
For this is another night we lay out fires for the feasting.
Running away when there is nowhere to hide from the blade,
Solo act on a tightrope, where once protective thoughts are increasing.

Lack of pride forbids me from speaking of how sharp the mind is,
Rather be free of it anyway, the world seen by the eyes is so sick.
Nothing redeems the news they blast me down with, fiction or non,
Slipping in visions of the blessed man, synapses are so fast, so damn slick.

Turning open doors into such securely locked jewel encrusted chests,
Returning the violence and lustful lie of ‘wanting’ back into the mixture.
Stonewalled by blackened deals of ancient times we cannot forgive or forget,
These are no longer just our guests we scream, now more a permanent fixture.

Knock me around for my downed status, choke a bit at sipping my sour old wine,
Brillant tactics breed failure when the soldiers have all gone home and retreated.
Air taken in is only available here, in the shallow places of the once bravest mind,
Can we pack away the tools of war and hatred for the enemies, is this completed?

Thomas Spychalski 


The Walk

April 20, 2018

First steps are kinda hard, Spring this time around is so cold,
I could write in, complain, I’m not that daring, not that bold.
Up ahead a dog runs unleashed in his little prison yard,
Guess she is content, if I free her, the fear will hit her hard.

Some little child waves from the big picture window,
Daddy is in the garage getting the machine ready to mow.
Mommy, you can see exhausted sneaking a smoke,
Behind the house they built, which one chokes?

Turn a corner, so easy to do when I’m on my two feet,
See the moonshine basking in the dusk, more complete.
From somewhere far away a bass and snare explode like bombs,
Musical dreams there arise or die, be they punk or Brahams.

Something sick arises in the center of my centers, the whole,
This oxygen is making me weak, fumes like burned dream coal.
Gotta head right on back, I’d head home but I don’t have one,
I’d cry tears, but unless I am imploded I don’t have none.

Start walking on the grass, to stay off the drug of man-made nonsense,
The vapidness in the air I smell like slightly rotted musky incense.
Heading the way I came, what a fucking righteous bloated irony,
Trapped by my own self-hate and sense of imprisonment of my own tyranny.

Around me, the night is born, as my body pushed on around the blocks,
Not measuring how many steps, can’t measure time with shattered clocks.
So let’s just lay around mentally naked in the suburban fields they call lawns,
I’ll walk around again I’m sure, once we capture and interrogate those inner pawns.
ThOmAs SpYcHaLsKi 


Logic Persists

April 19, 2018

Used to think there was something special to me,
Used to think someone would see.
Back then now and again, I felt beautiful,
Before I knew what time had in store for me.

Then logic persists in my head to take a look around,
Ain’t no one here son, you better place them feet beneath the ground.
I guess we just waited in vain, for the sun through the rain,
For a cure for the pain and all the shame.

How can I believe when everything I do just crumbles?
Why keep going, just to shift this heavy rubble?
Where is our safe haven, where is our port of call?
When does trying turn to that faithful lying from all?

Logic persists with its twists, proves I’m absent,
Thoughts of whit, taking your hits does nothing to impress.
Logic persists I’m still a mess, and time just moves on without me,
Just wanted a taste of what is taken for granted, for the enchanted,
But logic persists…
Thomas Spychalski 


Glass

April 15, 2018

All those times I said I could not find it,
Well yeah you know the search goes on…
Wearing costumes in the shop windows,
Sun heavy, but the sacred curtain is drawn…

Aggression bubbles behind the portrait I’m trying to paint,
Soaking in dirty water because I’m angry at being made of glass.
And the world just looks right through me,
The world will just consume me,
So let’s stay here safe in the pane lest we shatter.
Thomas Spychalski 


Barely

April 2, 2018

All spark bled out, duties are done. Retreat to tarnished walls, remove the fancy dress now we have begun.

As the world settles down in the confines of shelter, silent scream of emptiness, reach out for the Earth mother but can’t say when I last felt her.

Just barely here now, if you breathe you might never know I was gone. Clock is ticking onwards, every new scratch leaves one less to the last dawn.

Where did it all get left behind, what made this world into stone, Eyes have it but I’m still blind, now the pain is all I own.

Rage never won the day but neither did my best love, maybe we should leave the quest till we touch skies above.

Barely feel like I’m living in the same world as the rest of the tribes that ignore me, but of losses the worst was belief that there may be something for me.

If we call to the rivers current and ask all who swim against why they strive, they will call on great life, but not all survive.

– Thomas Spychalski


Empty Greetings and Long Gone Goodbyes

March 30, 2018

Laying here breathing smoke and fire,
If you love me soon I’ll make you a liar,
Never knew I was a secret fucking destroyer,
Dead song, and as it said, no one in my foyer.

Guess I can just fake apologies all around,
But the duality got me so damn down,
Between what was never said out loud,
The things I see beneath your shrouds…

Just another round of empty greetings and long gone goodbyes,
I know I never measured up to the light you saw behind the disguise,
But I am so tired of losing while seeing bastards appear at all the thrones,
I tried to leave you with misguided healing, but I only leave myself the bones.

No more hellos, would this mean no more goodbyes?
Really cannot fathom those feelings coming round again,
In the end, the lows always end up outweighing the highs,
Maybe a healing light will rise again, but over decades, losses only just become a trend and I am tired.

Digging my hole still, hands keep reaching to new depths to lay,
Still meant all the good things I used to say, used to pray,
Down here in the dirt, admittedly this feels like my home,
In solitude, I twist and change, my heart’s longing my tome.

Suppose I could try again, but lately just no longer care,
Control, false bidding wars on sale today, I crack and tear,
The truth was buried in the lie, yes, sad but so true,
Beneath the dust on the mantlepieces, this wrecked heart loved you.

Just another round of empty greetings and long gone goodbyes,
I know I never measured up to the light you saw behind the disguise,
But I am so tired of losing while seeing bastards appear at all the thrones,
I tried to leave you with misguided healing, but I only leave myself the bones.

No more hellos, would this mean no more goodbyes?
Really cannot fathom those feelings coming round again,
In the end, the lows always end up outweighing the highs,
Maybe a healing light will rise again, but over decades, losses only just become a trend and I am tired.
Thomas Spychalski 


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