Author S. K. Nicholas

Hoisted into thin air. Stripped naked and brutally whipped. Flesh cuts and bruised like an apple. Body aches. A mind so tired. Alcohol numbed and stained with smoke. Sun scorched and distorted. Burning dogs running through the panicked streets of Vallejo. The midnight express. A state of mind. A way to visit places now lost in time. Rain lashed brows. Bedrooms of dust. Sheets of desire, floating someplace unknown. The passage of days, scattered across vacant lots. You can drift, and never know you’re gone. Riderless horses. Shoeless whores. Dresses on the floor, a crude and crumpled heap. No dignity. No self-esteem. Only broken bodies split straight down the middle. Catacombs of forced love. Pretence. Compulsion. Neglected like abandoned shops at the end of some faded old pier in England. Be merciful. Know justice. Rejoice in the hands of fate. Stay true to who you are. Avoid witches. Be fearful of lizards- the one’s whose blood runs cold with not one ounce of regret.