I can look at you in beauty, but you only look at me in hate,
Now some will try and change it but I think it’s kinda late,
Some can call it bad luck, I can only call it by name as fate,
Tired of the misery, the empty times, and going without breaks.

I don’t wanna play a game that was rigged from the very start,
No one cares if like glass shatters so does your only heart,
Cold enough, I got it, was raised in ice and pulled apart,
No arrivals here, only lost baggage and timetables to depart.

Is there any proof to be any real reason to drop a dime,
When every picture frame shows the scene of a crime,
For you, it might seem foreign but I see it all the time,
Teasing, chaff glances and the barrage on my mind.

Here we go, I will have faith again obtuse and good enough to believe,
That a reality bathed in losses would ever give up quarter or reprieve,
I wish it did not assault me in sick bruises did not bring me to my knees,
But if the opposite is being felt all I ever get to feel like is the disease.

Press on, push up, still got some sacrifice meat left on these bones,
Imagination leaves me giddy, times awoke just leave me all alone,
If this is to be broken need the cavalry call, set a new static tone,
This could go either way still will it be the soothing northern lights or the familiar rough edges of the stone?
Thomas Spychalski 

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