Pitchforks And Flowers


Beating my chest to an empty room in the dark,
Why can’t we stop the anger and the pain, create a spark?
I’m dreaming and seething all at the same time,
Halfway through this and still cannot see my crime.

Followed all of you around, maybe you didn’t know it,
Because I think the whole world’s above me, although I try not show it,
I could say I’ll try again, but I always just blow it…

I ask myself what the hell is wrong with me?
Do I repulse the world that much, feeling like Mary Shelley’s creation,
All I ever wanted so long it was a love of any kind and life’s moments shared, but instead just got straight starvation.

Busting my broken hearts against a shattered window pane,
That I can never see out of, be the weather sun or rain.
Living with the inside intercom, come alive once more,
Telling me no matter what, just hide and hate, nothing is ever outside our door.

Thinking is believing is a truth but seeing actions are another,
Why people cut off full signal strength, then tell me I’m their brother.
Others have said they cared and praised me hesitant and faintly,
Meanwhile, the pools of people gather every week so saintly.

Where was I when the bombs went, lighting life’s empty chambers,
Cut off supplies I see delivered on the line, then get chastised, why so confused by my anger?
It’s all right now, just won’t reach out at all anymore,
One request though as you leave, these feelings I’ve felt inside, what are they for?
Thomas Spychalski 

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