Woke up this morning on the wrong side of my head,
Thinking those thoughts that might leave other people dead.
Forcing through contributions, I’m so heavy at my peak,
Once so strong, now I’m wrong, frightened just to speak.
The cold outside matches the terrible waking moment,
Fury, unrequited rage of equality, you’re the destroyer so own it.
So beautiful, yet the dark inside my eyes, my tortured head,
if this is gifted, can I exchange it, maybe different ground I’d tread.
Head filled with black mantras, the joke is always on me,
Came out broken, soul unspoken, did you dare to call victory?
Winds carry thoughts, that I’d rather not even think,
Can’t see clear, so much fear, step forward but don’t blink.
Cold day turns to night, as the coming Winter steals the day,
Did I mention, through the negative attention, just wanted to play?
Loose verses and prose, now my only view to reach to the outside,
How I’d love to kill the fear, the unfounded beliefs and that stupid pride.
Little boy, you have walked in the cold far too often,
Where friends die and the world lies, still never to soften.
I am guilty of being lonely and taking it out in controlling shares of rage,
how can you expect love when you change roles from stage to stage?
Old man this has been one long road of regrets,
we took our own air, each time we hedged our bets.
I still love you, despite how much I just want you gone,
I cannot expect you to be the king when you spent years as a pawn.
This has turned into rambling words I must confess,
I want a happy ending, desire mending, unconstructed stress.
How can we hunt, we have no more tools at our sides,
That which binds us, kills outward, every time ‘I’ hide.
–Thomas Spychalski
TomSpy 
Cold | TomSpy
[…]There are so many psychic venues–psychic strains, psychic web sites, bookstores, gypsy psychic houses, etc., the place you may get a psychic reading.[…]