It’s Not About You

July 15, 2018

While you entertain that you can derive from these words hidden meanings,
And think you’re on my head, that I’ve been fantasy-land dreaming,
Sometimes these words exist only to just stop me from screaming,
Like I’ve heard before, it’s not about you.

Human egos, muted blows, all lined up in little rows,
Everybody is self-important but that’s how it goes.
It’s not about you,
Sometimes we don’t fit those shoes,
For sanity, better to inflate than to lose.

When you hear me tell of the pain lying under,
Then your head starts to think, ponder, wonder,
Did I let it all out in the open, did I blunder,
Like I have been told before, it’s not about you.

Human egos, muted blows, all lined up in little rows,
Everybody is self-important but that’s how it goes.
It’s not about you,
Sometimes we don’t fit those shoes,
For sanity, better to inflate than to lose.

So it’s not about you…except when it is.
Thomas Spychalski 

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The World Is On Fire And I Don’t Care

July 14, 2018

Seeing whatever I can through this cold dead window,
Spin me again Lord, you know you love me on this spindle.
I no longer heal, because I can no longer bear to feel,
The emptiness and exclusion when I never get the wheel.

The World is on fire and I no longer care,
Because when I burn there is no one there,
Let it burn bright, an illusion, kill it on sight,
No more confusion, I was always the one set alight,
And left to burn.
Thomas Spychalski 


Mindless

July 4, 2018

Out here in space,
Cannot even taste,
To be part of this race,
Slapped, bruised face,
From reaching out…

Deep down inside,
Got my own pride,
So I will forever hide,
No one on ‘my’ side,
From my vapid thoughts…

God, if you want this life to continue just make me mindless,
And praise your soiled bones bleach white for it not being timeless,
Just be kind, take this mind, leave me blind, I was just always left behind,
Cannot keep the motor running on fumes, each day reminds me anew.

Lost myself in lying states of mind,
Maybe you get love and respect, for my life not so benign,
So whatever wisdom you have to tell a stubborn grown child,
Save it, your breath as well, nothing can save me from the wilds of my mind.

Unless I can be mindless.
Thomas Spychalski


Turnaround

July 2, 2018

Somewhere deep in this black dance,
There must be some reasonable chance,
To sink anchor, break this old trance,
Sever this ancient bleak internal romance.

Two steps lead to two more and both sore,
Rotting pieces un-cut, how close to the core?
Looping volume on high, lying, personal folklore,
Deciding in shame, to be less, the master’s whore.

A turnaround off this dance floor, escape, I could make,
But so afraid that I might just unceremoniously break,
All things I don’t know, all these things I cannot fake,
I give light when needed but steal every bit I then take.

Legs have worn out from the effort to keep moving,
The explosions of the beats that are never improving,
Something here out in these dark lights I still find soothing,
Here I am again making a silent scene, business is booming.

Sending a request to the outside, the ones I did the abusing,
My heart lies heavy in this black tar dance, it never was amusing,
I should have been dancing with you a better dance, approving,
Rather than set your heart alight then smash it senselessly, accusing.
Thomas Spychalski 


There Doesn’t Seem To Be Anything Here

June 27, 2018

Reach out…
Heal.
Have not…
Can’t steal.

See the world around you in a darker shade,
No one to accept the gifts you gladly gave.
And now there doesn’t seem to be anything here,
Apart from the ghosts and the fear.

Find hearts…
Denied.
Run away…
Save pride.

See the world around you in a darker shade,
No one to accept the gifts you gladly gave.
And now there doesn’t seem to be anything here,
Apart from the ghosts and the fear.

Always alone…
So damn tired.
Nothing changes…
Only things not required.

See the world around you in a darker shade,
No one to accept the gifts you gladly gave.
And now there doesn’t seem to be anything here,
Apart from the ghosts and the fear.

How I would love to be loved, or saved from above,
Get paid for the work I did, reveal the things I saw you hid…
But there doesn’t seem to be anything here.
Thomas Spychalski 


What to Leave Behind

June 27, 2018

Another dawn, another dusk, another day losing my trust, just rotting, gaining more rust…

One more hour, six, twelve, then twenty-four, doesn’t seem I serve a purpose anymore…

Guess the only thing left is what to leave behind,
For a cold world so unkind,
It’s only the blind leading the blind,
Praising empty gods in empty shrines.

Tomorrow will come regardless, cannot halt her, time is such a foul and cruel mistress…

What did I ever do to deserve this line, life full of rancid grapes, that cannot make wine…

Guess the only thing left is what to leave behind,
For a cold world so unkind,
It’s only the blind leading the blind,
Praising empty gods in empty shrines.
Thomas Spychalski 


Stone Dead Sober

June 26, 2018

Push through the daily, open and closing accounts, make up your tally,
The mask does not show the pains of mind and body, constant steady rains.
Empty home as it always has and will be, the mindless drone of empty rooms,
Hold on,  jars are empty, no room on Mars, now how the hell do I sleep with these scars?

Don’t leave me here with myself, I don’t like him either,
Won’t leave the wounds alone, keep picking till they bleed.
Can’t see without my rose colored glass or smoke-filled cast,
Shant move because I am scared and don’t know how to do what you do.

The fears of being stone dead sober,
A story that’s been read over and over,
Anything, anything, to drive the mind away,
Anywhere, anywhere, so very sorry I can’t stay.
Thomas Spychalski 


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