Mean To Say

Dave has a long apology worked out in his head. All the ways he knows he's been a lousy boyfriend. Too focused on what he wants, not willing to compromise or, even worse, listen to Samantha's side. His inability to show empathy and instead trying to solve every one of her problems the way he'd go about it. Most importantly, just saying that he's sorry.

By the time he works up the courage to put his thoughts into actual words, Samantha has already left him alone in the café. Her last words were, "I never want to see you again."

What's In Store

The best way to describe the sensation was like a super vivid acid trip where all his thoughts were crystal clear and jumbled together at the same time. He'd never actually tried acid, being too afraid of losing his mind, but he imagined it was like this.

His therapist prescribed him antipsychotics, but he refused. He decided instead that he no longer needed a therapist. What was the point when he could experience his entire future laid out before him at once? Like he was everywhere and everywhen at the same time.

If that made him crazy, so be it.

It Happens Like This

How many years since your hand found her knee? She will never leave you. Your voice is her background music, her dance. Smile at her from across the kitchen, her hands sorting knives and forks. Her smile is for you, but her thoughts are there, with him. That day. Cold wind pulled them close. Her hand on his neck, his hands in her hair. She knows by now she'd have tired of him as well. Forgotten how she spent afternoons in his freckled arms. She'd gaze across a room not seeing him, not feeling more than this slow, quiet day.

From Guest Contributor Beth Mead

Be

Sherman breathed deeply, concentrating on emptying his mind of all thoughts. The contradiction of thinking about not thinking about anything gave him a headache. His spiritual advisor instructed him to repeat his mantra at times like this.

"Be...be...be..."

He chose his mantra because of the fundamental reason he'd begun a meditation practice: he wanted to stop analyzing everything and just be. He wanted to overcome all of the angst that seemed to plague all of his waking thoughts, prevented him from sleeping and leaving him chronically depressed.

His advisor didn't understand. "Why do you sound like a bumblebee?"

Fool In The Rain

The rejection stings. Dave stumbles down the sidewalk, absorbed in his own thoughts, oblivious to the people walking nearby or the rain pouring overhead. Motor memory guides him back to his apartment despite never making a decision to walk home. He's too preoccupied with being left standing on the curb looking a fool. The others were probably still laughing.

All he knows with any certainty is he will never allow himself to be in such a vulnerable position again.

If only he'd been a few seconds quicker, he could have boarded the bus before the door slammed in his face.

Oh Baby

He's seeking to please, down on his knees, when everything freezes.

He's holding his breath, scared half to death, then everything stops.

She's the love of his life, one day his wife, when everything freezes, his heart starts and drops.

There's not enough time, it's all a true crime. Some kind of conspiracy, no true north polarity.

His thoughts have a meter, his words want to rhyme. His raison d'etre stutters sublime.

Now it's all over, she's lost in the past. A mysterious end that happened too fast.

It just goes to show: nothing truly matters, when nothing ever lasts.

What In Hell Is A Soul?

The super highway of data flowing back to the Dyson Sphere brought several questions to mind. Are all the math numbers being crunched supposedly from bitcoin to dogecoin just souls caught in the Mandela effect? Seemed illogical. And yet?

The more one reviews the simulator of life. The more questions one has to think about. Does thinking make anything right? No.And often times thoughts bring about new ideas. The question is any of this real?

Then the realization even if this was not real. Here I am today. And here you are too? Which begs the question in hell.

From Guest Contributor Clinton Siegle

Parts

There are so many parts. Kept in so many places. Compartments. Boxes. Bags. Bottles of fragile glass. Crumpled notes. Silent emotions. Screaming thoughts. Swept under the rug, in full view for all to see. No one cares to look. Feet itch. Throats burn and choke. There is pain. A fullness in the head. Legs are terrified. Hips want to cry. I don’t know why. Go, in search of questions. Lost with all your parts. Unable to fix. Unable to stop. Unable to flee. Unable to look you in the eye. Scared of what you already know. Parts of a whole.

From Guest Contributor Courtney King

Lovers And Leaves

Staring out through a grove of trees, mouths moaning as swirls of dark browns cover the bright yellows and vibrant orange of autumn leaves, whispering to the fields of dying long grass.

The artist found his place and began to paint. Hours turned into days, joyously becoming lost in the thoughts of his one true love.

When the artist's trance ended, he was perplexed by the ghostly image of his lover in a pink dress, his heart in her hands and his love-lorn self standing beside her.

Behind them, the fields were a sea of violet flowers in violent bloom.

From Guest Contributor J. Iner Souster

In The Memory Of A Thought To Be

Vernon took his knife and silently pulled it from the tree bark. With a shriek, the first crow flew from the hollow, resting on the ragged grass. Its feathers ruffled, and its face pinched.

Vernon's skull pushed itself upward, bursting through his skin, and making a nest in the now-vacant cavity. Vernon's eyes fell upon the recess within, creating a rotted root system.

He could not believe in any of those things.

Vines sunk from branches covering the ground, winding around tree trunks and breaking them apart. The crow's mouth yawned open, tearing at Vernon's thoughts with claws and teeth.From Guest Contributor J. Iner Souster