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You came at a bad time.

A terribly, terribly bad time.

You showed up the moment I couldn’t stand to touch you.

I was afraid you were never going to come.

I should have been glad you came, but why am I not relieved?

Is it that crippling fear that the moment I touch you, you fade away like a ghost?

Is it that you might be a whistleblower looking for an insecurity to use against me later?

Or is it that you are trying to distract me from tending to my garden before it dies of thirst?

I want to shout, “Why didn’t you come sooner?!”

I want to shout, “Where were you when I needed you most?!”

I want to yell at the top of my lungs, “Would it kill you to tell me what’s driving you away from me?!!”

But I am too nice. Too kind and gentle to scream and point to the elephant in the room.

The very elephant that a sorcerer pulled out of his hat and crippled both of my limbs.

I never wanted to call for help because it reinforces the notion that I should still be in high school.

I’ve crawled around all year avoiding the other teenage drama queens that worship dragons.

Seems like they forgot that dragons like to steal our fortunes and our hearts. Before they eat them.

Spending time with my open-minded little brother has planted a seed of doubt in my head.

A seed that gets me thinking that all love does to me is waste my time experimenting with false hope.

My imaginary nights with a fallen angel goes along the lines of;

“Yes, yes, honey, shower me with hugs and kisses. Oh, my love, how I yearn for you.

Pleasure me with your lust until the water in your veins runs out and you become a raisin.

Only then, will I toss you in the sun and wonder why the hell I’ve never gotten lucky.”

When will the water cycle end for the both of us?

What compels Venus to bewitch me to make bad choices?

Why else do you think independent seekers with degrees in hand avoid commitment?

Our grandparents and parents are more patient than our generation is now

Because compared to us, they tended to their gardens and their raisins.

You did a bang-up job tending to me by showering me with promises you can’t keep,

With complex wisdom about human nature, stories of your struggle to get your education over with,

And the snuggles and touches that I wished were real more than the chains I dream of shattering.

You’ve made this game look so easy, you know?

All that had impressed me about you lately is how you’ve lured me into your arms,

Only to neglect me without warning when the sun was at its hottest.

Part of me does not wish to see you go because I tolerate the pain that your absence has left behind.

You scarcely have time on your hands, but would you care to join me for a cup of jasmine tea?

It won’t take long. What I want to know next is what else is new that you have yet to tell me?

© 2017 SachikoMochiko

Figment of my Imagination

By JFarrell

I am just a figment of your imagination

I don’t exist

The grumbling of a piece of cheese

Eaten too late at night

A shadow stirred by a

Tap-tap-tapping on your door

Memories awakened by

A howling on the wind

The breath on your neck

Of “Spring-Heeled” Jack

The knife at your throat

In Whitechapel

A ghost, a wisp

A vivid dream

Already forgotten

As you wake

The flea bites me

Then bites the arm of God

And I am nothing, forever

Just a figment, an echo

Clouds

By JFarrell

Like a film reel

The pictures flow before me

One by one

A majestic bird, an eagle,

Spreads it wings and takes flight;

A steam barge,

Chugging it’s way upriver;

A juggling clown,

Putting on his mask, to hide his tears;

Another man in a mask,

Highwayman, to take your gold at gunpoint;

This one shows the sun breaking,

Over a lovely, sleeping town;

This one shows the sun setting,

Over the smouldering, blackened ruins of a bombed village;

This one shows the beginning of all time,

That one shows the end of all time.

Clouds are beautiful and wondrous,

And such an inspiration,

For the imagination.

Look up,

You might too

See the beginning

And the end

Of everything.

I just want to be

With the night.

Quietly write.

Just float in space,

And feel misplaced.

Weightlessly fly.

Gather letters and words,

Sounds that taste like rain.

Voicelessly sing.

Carefully calculate

Senselessness.

Condense the expansion.

Melt it into an ice cube

And swallow it whole.

Shut in the out.

Turn on the dark,

Greet each subtle whimsy,

As I dangle from the edge

Of a crescent moon.

...and swoon

I want to be with the night.

Alright?

Let's, for a minute, pretend. That reality is a figment of our imaginations, and a nightmare in which people choose to live in... let's pretend that it's only us and the stars, the clouds, the dusk... well, let's focus on us.

I know it's irrational to move away from the grasps of the inevitable reality in which this world forces us to feel emotional and doubt who we are and what we feel... but let's just pretend and be happy, even though we know it's not real...

In this place we call a "dream," let's be together and do everything that reality prevents us from doing... Let's fall in love and have hope and be just fine with no anxiety and smile about all the great things we could do together...

Let's just pretend...? Only for a moment..

Imagination's Longevity

                       by Odin Roark

If no father takes my hand,
I'll make Care my father.
If no mother wipes my tears
I'll embrace Order.

If no friend stands beside me,
I'll make Quiet my friend.
If no enemy presents lessons
I'll welcome Other shadowless light.

If a roof is not for me,
I'll make Audacity my shelter.
If my eyes fail to see,
I'll Listen.
No ears,
I'll Think.
No thought,
I'll Wait.

If no Fortune comes my way,
my Means will make me rich.
If no Love furthers smiling,
I'll court Sleep to imagine.

Tomorrow,
and tomorrow's tomorrow,

is but a sunrise away.

I'll remain of Hope,
knowing dreams are often

one’s Imagined rewards…

meaning to happen.

I didn’t believe in luck.  It was five long years ago.

 I was working down below  and next

thing I know, the mines started collapsing. 

 I fortunately made it out alive.  Only with some

bruises and a broken arm.  I do now believe

in luck.  The broken arm got me out of the

mines for good.  Weeks after the accident, I

opened my bar. Life above the ground is

not always easy.   It was all luck, but I don’t

yet understand it.  Why me? Why I am here?

I like to think that I’m here for the wounded,

the lost, and the confused.  I serve miners for free

because I understand them.  I understand

the life of being in hell, in heaven, and in grey

but, I don’t understand luck.