The Drop

September 24, 2018

I could think you love me or be certain you hate me,
Especially the latter if I know the love is real and free.
Be stone cold as a chilling unreadable marble statue,
Or grab you by the child’s soul, make you believe.

Spin your dreams into gold, or dredge up the old evil spirits,
Especially if you awaken the heaven to hell and you can hear it,
Ticking inside me these twin clocks, keeping a different time,
Irreversible magnet to heal or scare you to be anywhere near it.

At times the drop is a choice,
At others, the drop is a voice,
Sometimes born of things gone,
Kinging kings and pawning pawns.
Thomas Spychalski 

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Numb Skin

September 17, 2018

It’s the tiniest littlest things that will last the longest,
The weakest memories that soon become the strongest,
Like a dream carved into the endings of your nerves.

So long out in the dryest desert without the feel and the touch,
Everyone and I shout me down, says it does not mean so much,
However, two lights are always better at illuminating the swerves.

It’s been so long now think I have got numb skin,
I could tell you a tale, but don’t know where to begin,
It’s beginning to feel like I am not a sinner but the sinned,
I feel like I’m taking another on the chin just to unpin it all away.

It’s the miniature heart attacks on a cold night that keep you wanting,
Ghosts ready to move on again are the variables of this constant haunting,
Self before others, responsibility to larger things just burns the circles closed.

Grateful for somethings but so mad at others, don’t want to wear this badge,
Try and try again but time ticks it’s wicked keeping and it won’t let me lag.
Because sometimes the lustful loneliness beneath this calm water is exposed.

It’s been so long now think I have got numb skin,
I could tell you a tale, but don’t know where to begin,
It’s beginning to feel like I am not a sinner but the sinned,
I feel like I’m taking another on the chin just to unpin it all away.
Thomas Spychalski 


Unlisted

September 7, 2018

You can sit right there reading the lists,
A way to needlessly complicate all of this,
Searching for sages in a sea of vapid opinions,
But it’s not theirs, not their sacred mission.

All the real reasons unlisted,
behind the veil of self, misted.
The things we missed,
Right there in the midst,
Do not resist, give it a twist.
Disarmed by instinct, finally, put down fist.

Experts and fools say much the same lines,
Depending on you, never want to pay the fines,
Teachers, better preachers live on the inside,
While we all cower from reflection, away ‘we’ hide.

All the real reasons unlisted,
behind the veil of self, misted.
The things we missed,
Right there in the midst,
Do not resist, give it a twist.
Disarmed by instinct, finally, put down fist.

Shower yourself in your own reign,
Gotta be better than indecision, pain,
Cry out for soothing relaxing relief,
Which prophets steal from you like a thief.

All the real reasons unlisted,
behind the veil of self, misted.
The things we missed,
Right there in the midst,
Do not resist, give it a twist.
Disarmed by instinct, finally, put down fist.

No longer sheltered from my own sweet voice,
“You know my love, this is all your own choice,”
Turn up that collar against the pouring storm,
No outer heat is as hot as the lights inside, so warm.

All the real reasons unlisted,
behind the veil of self, misted.
The things we missed,
Right there in the midst,
Do not resist, give it a twist.
Disarmed by instinct, finally, put down fist.
Thomas Spychalski 


Armor and Chains

September 7, 2018

Better than I have been in a long time,
No idea why.
Shelter in my own cast dye,
Instead of the lie.

Confused by the courage, been fooled before,
By lonely times.
Bemused by the lack of self-talkin’ grime,
Can this forever be mine?

It’s the armor instead of the ball and chains,
Fear still arising, anger if I focus on the pain,
Can I keep looking East, never set in the west,
Only projecting the secrets held, our very best.

Grateful for a breather but fearing the coming of the dark,
The killer, the liar, the hater, and the poisoned heart, can they return?
Just a fleeting spectacular glance of a new and better season,
For me, not you, for me should be no better reason not to burn.

Rising but so afraid of the common fall,
Damaged by the speed of descent.
Mixed messages again on the stage, present,
Non-intended intent.

Betrayal can only come by own hands,
Such is the oldest disease,
The destroyer’s perspective must not be appeased,
When he pulls my leash, stay off my knees.
Thomas Spychalski 


The Fool

September 6, 2018

Guarded my today’s with yesterdays,
Found, then lost, I found a way.
Rumination, vexation, hesitation,
Uncover diamonds then run away.

Listened to many words but never heard,
All this was to be deemed so absurd.
Attacking, backing, attaching,
Blood to empty inner words.

Meanwhile, the outside keeps trying to wake me up,
The world waits for me for me to say: “Enough!”
Been praised to tears, been clandestinely loved to death,
But I could not give myself benefit of the doubt, reflect, catch my breath.
Thomas Spychalski 


Tied Me To You

September 4, 2018

Well here you have it, your dream come true,
You only have me and I only have you.
Cold master still with the coldest heart,
The fiery anger you planted could burn you,
But I’m not as much a killer as you, willingly tearing people apart.

You taught me so thoroughly and well,
How to burn love till it becomes hell.
I was a light just trying vainly to shine,
Could have done some god damn good,
Forbidden to scream by etiquette, but I’m not fine.

You tied me right to you,
Doing the crimes you do,
Gagged me, now I gag myself,
A tragedy in and of itself,
I am, we were, will be, ‘him’ himself.

Tired of your lockdown solitary confinement,
I have a good heart, you took learning to apply it.
Monster maker, breaking your mold in shame,
Never shattering, forever broken, discounted,
Recall how you taught me how to play this crooked game.

If I can ever break the poison you fed me, this curse,
I will try and repay every rusted wound, every distorted verse.
I am the puppeteer now, I got hold of my own damn strings,
Still can’t dance to my own tune, volume turned way down,
Logic persists the disaster is long over, but the bastard is still king.

You tied me right to you,
Doing the crimes you do,
Gagged me, now I gag myself,
A tragedy in and of itself,
I can’t, we won’t, we sadly are, ‘him’ himself.
Thomas Spychalski 


Wise Thought of the Day #15

September 2, 2018

“…The man’s nervous nobody wants to be around this guy.”

“If I felt no one wanted to be around me, I’d be…nervous too.”

-ST: TNG-Hollow Pursuits


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