COLLAB. WITH AUSTIN DRAPER

It’s little more than a quiet thought.
The impending feeling that the loneliness
was a creation of my own imploding self-conscious.
I wouldn’t have hurt you voluntarily,
so what outside force could know my mind so well?

It’s little more than a spoken word.
The rumble of the oncoming storm could be felt
from as close as 1.6 miles away,
where the darkness of your room invaded the
not-so secret spots of your heart.

I’m prone, to the truth in your words.
I’m not used to the idea of confronting my thoughts
And sorting them out to you.
Is it that I spoke wrong words? Or I stopped before they meant anything?
You mean so much, and now you are out of my reach.

The light dims.
The fire dies.
Darkness fills in the blanks.
Sweet release.
Tears against my cheek.
Now met with the dissatisfying drought.
Left alone in desolate cold.
Fear overwhelms.
Not fear of monsters or the simple unknown.
Fear that when my eyes grow heavy I will never lift them again.
I will become a stone.
Unmoved and cold.
To survive these nights alone.

O'blessed Darkness cover me
Blanket the rushing words & flashing blurs;
The disjointed fragments of blinking walls,
Lights crashing off and on,
Blue, red, green-the marionettes dancing,
So many together and all alone.
It is all a show.

The hiccup of life, the vomiting dream.
I see my life before me;

A slush of goo,
The stink of this world,
Or is that the scallops & escargot?
What have you done to me?

Everything I do myself-
This dream, this life...
Why do I hurt myself so?

Punching mirrors, ***** on porcelain.
Dark, thick-
My throne for many minutes...

Time ticking, time ticking-
I was unaware.
My wooden box was silent,
My wooden life is tragic.

The voices through the walls,
Through the fog and haze-
You okay? You okay? You okay?

I croak a positive.
I have no steady legs-
When have I ever?
I have no:
stable brain
clear thought
decisive moment
steady action
fruitful journey-
All slipping through my fingers...
Like the vomitous goo of tonight.

Everything we have, we lose.
Owning anything is an illusion.
Holding on is meaningless.

I want to go home.

(Everything is nothing)

I want to go home

(there is no sense in anything)

i want to go home.

Please, hold me now.

*©Lesley Wood

The songs he wrote were syrupy
The way his fingers moved across his bass
Like he was swimming
Through thick. Thick. Water
The kind you find
In colder parts of the world


The words he spoke were syrupy
The way he let his tongue roll deep inside his throat
The way he mixed laughter into every syllable
The way he’d duck his head with embarrassment

I told him once that I’d like a goat
And the way I touch him
Well it sometimes feels like harassment
It’s just that he’s so
Adorable
And the way that he moves when he’s trying
To express
his pent up joy
Is syrupy  


I told him that I'd like to have a farm
Live without waste
Love as if I were blind
To the darkness we all harbor
But I'm lying
And he knows I'm lying
I'm not tired enough yet


To cultivate peace

I would sometimes stay awake just to hear his laughter
But
You could say his whole life was syrupy
The way he let things pass
By him
with no intention of grabbing hold
Of Opportunity


And I'd like to think that he and I
Are similar in most respects
And it seems as if I care for everyone
And that all I want is joy for all
And it seems that he cares for the little things
And that he cares for me
But we both know
That neither of us care
About much