Author S. K. Nicholas

Sometimes, all a man has is the ability to make a woman sad. There’s something in seeing the tears roll down her face that makes us feel some sense of worth. Maybe it’s control, or we’re just impotent in love and compassion. Monsters, aren’t we all. So dumb and numb, we attack beauty in an attempt at feeling tall when really we’re so small. Beneath the skin, a mess of childhood fears never far from taking over the charade of what we call living. Just boys forever scared of the future and the haunting terror of being rejected. And all we ever do, is slip back into our childhood. Misunderstood, our minds become corrupt. Our hearts broken by regret. Further away, each day a stained reminder of all that we’ve lost. Men, stupid little men. All bone, and so lacking in beauty. Sleepflowers, ticking down time until there’s no time left. Missing pieces of a puzzle, so badly out of reach. Try to keep it all inside, but there’s just no use.

Oh, but I’m just a struggling writer. What do I know? What could I say, that hasn’t been said before? What pathetic acts could I perform? What cries for help could I unleash, in an attempt to save myself from oblivion? My nights destroyed by guilt, how could I ever hope to be saved from drowning? This shame that I wear so heavy, how could I ever hope for it to be lifted? Through truth? Through a willingness to bare my soul for all to see? Who could ever tell the depths that have been sunk. Behind the mask of a joker, who could ever predict the emptiness that would swell beyond salvation. But no one is ever lost. We’re all ready to be saved. It comes from within. It has to. Forgiveness. We have to forgive ourselves. Until then, we’re just doomed to suffer in silence. Cry those tears, and know that tomorrow brings hope. And hope is all there ever is. It’s what defines us, what takes us through the darkness, and into the light.

The truth of my fury spread across these pages. I’m not a monster, not anymore. These footsteps, so sublime. All those yesterdays, testaments of what we’re made of. All that suffering. All those signature acts. Too many tigers. Always clawing at my back. But love, love will always redeem. Losers that we are, so glorious in defeat. Freaks so crushed, battered and bruised and so, so ugly. Love, only love. Sometimes I let the ghosts take me away, but I’m trying hard to stand up. No more false mirrors, only faith. Despite everything, I still believe in something more. Can’t keep losing, when breathing is so easy. Sepia smiles, framed by mistakes. Melancholy so dirty, experience so weary. Just kiss me, and say it will all be okay. Take hold of this mess of anxieties, and promise me that everything will work out. Keep me safe from harm. Protect me from all those demons. Through cigarette smoke and alcohol daze, hold on, and never let me let go.