Honey Don’t Bee

June 19, 2019

Damaged clocks without hands,
Likes bees minus the barb’s sting,
Broken people staying silent because: ‘they said.’
Dementia will take you away, give back old forgotten things.

Progression of love to hate,
Once you see I refuse to play,
Cracked wooden spaces polished in pieces,
The ones who need me most refuse to come on and stay.

Underestimate my pressure diamond,
Cooking in my boiled up pot and plans,
Wash the killing floors with bleach and warm spit,
If I twist you off your rusted caps, ‘Daddy am I now a man?’

Bent prayers without a destination,
Like preachers on the make and take,
Sins are only what we deem to be dirty parties,
Hate me I breathe, love me and I might just go and break.
– Thomas Spychalski



June 19, 2019

Fell asleep thinking of the last cut,
Last time I let that be alive inside me.
Before another uncharted fall repeated,
Ended up with you following me there.

Woke up as one has many times before,
Shaking off feelings only real in dreaming.
No way to scrub down senses from fiction,
Torture I guess for living in this lonely divide.

Returned to see a phantom playing on,
Spirit that died eight years ago alive again.
She shocks me now and then via letters,
Yet never states her reason for her haunting.

In the end, I guess I’m tired of feeling unwanted,
So in the night, we live it in the only place we can.
Not right like so much else that’s been painted,
However fate don’t bother none, it won’t hear pleas nor demands.
Thomas Spychalski


June 7, 2019

Every time I reach out,
My hands been burned.
Now here I am buried alive,
Never again, lesson learned.

The times I fooled myself,
That I could ‘have’ as you.
Smacked back to my station,
New bruises black and blue.

So how does it feel to be loved,
Can you tell me so I can know?
Please no more lies that they do,
Nothing I have ever seen grow.

I ask so much I suppose now,
Wanting to be treated like I exist.
Instead of being ignored and banished,
Yet the ones with will just insist.

That’s it’s out there somewhere,
My time is waiting yet to come,
Then why am I treated so inhuman,
Only used when I need to heal the war ‘you’ came from?
Thomas Spychalski 


June 5, 2019

Here is my heat,
Do you like how it bleeds?
Here is my trust,
You made it recede.

There goes my faith,
Why do they set it alight?
There goes my sanity,
Inside like a lost goodnight.

Tell me I’m special,
Remind me I’m different,
Scream my name in your darkness,
Yet here I am, loyalty a one-way street.

Where is my light?
Did you enjoy putting it out?
Where is my tomorrow?
Now that you filled me with self-doubt.

When is my time?
The ones closest could never seem to make,
When is my dog’s day?
Where is someone to give as well as they take?
-Thomas Spychalski

Tease And Release

June 2, 2019

Something in the room,
Like the ritual to raise you.
Every hope leads to assuming,
This man is never due.

Sent it around this time,
To make sure I was pinched.
Confirmed but I had the bias,
This time, unworthy gaze, a flinch.

Feel like a dog being outright teased,
Rubber bones fake as everything I let in,
So this animal mind, lost pack, not pleased.
Still, question, beat myself, what is my sin?

The aftermath of every instance,
Pitiful, left wanting, carbon copies.
Agonizing why I’m not fully Human,
The ‘Un’ of life, waters now choppy.

Now basking in the knowledge,
Smart too, ignore knocks on my door.
It happens every time I let it in again,
Left unrequited, on the cold soothing floor.
-Thomas Spychalski

Cut Me Like You Mean It

June 1, 2019

Tape me up,
Box me tight,
Not foolish enough,
Tie the noose right.

Without sin,
So no love,
Not horrid enough,
Just an overdub.

Hurt me so I know,
Kill me so I feel,
Cut me like you mean it,
So I know it’s real.
Thomas Spychalski


Silent Travesty

June 1, 2019

There are things that only exist in fantasy,
Love is one, touch is another,
Happiness a never worn suit,
Worn threads from not touching each other.

How can you buy in when no one ever concerns,
Do for you, you give me previously stock recorded,
Silent travesty as you burn dimmer,
Yet liars say we all will be rewarded.

There are phrases that exist only in dreams,
An invitation, some sweet lift off from praise,
No one cares to fix broken bows of other ships,
Even when they from the depths you did raise.
Thomas Spychalski

%d bloggers like this: