Author S. K. Nicholas

A dove white dress. A body adorned with bees. Exotic like a photographer. So cute and abnormal as the lens replaces your doe-eyed smile. Such a tight body. Such delicate skin just waiting to be soiled at the hands of this joyful ol’ ruiner. The taste of your lips in the rain. The shape of your hips as my mind implodes with endless thoughts of failure and glory. All those bodies. All that pleasure hanging in the air on a balmy summers evening. Failure in sickness. The body not as myth, but reduced to that of mere function.  Flashing lights and delirium. Boredom. All those years spent sleeping. With nothing to say, the days faded into dysmorphia. Youth not as wonder, but as a means to an end. You talk of pain, yet you know nothing. Inwards always inwards as a voice is lost to writers block and the comfort of being numb. Alone so alone as everyone leaves in their own special way. Dead dogs and testicular cancer. Whores on every corner. Pouting stupidly like it were something special as innocence is replaced with love letters confessing dangerous hormones. There’s blood on my hands, but it’s only yours. Natural like breathless anxiety. Always and never on my mind. Sweets to the sweet like a lover stood perched on a bridge overlooking the sea. In the time it takes to speak one truth, the world comes crashing down. Waltzing into my life, that day will live on through the magic of our troubled touch. Holding hands so foolishly whilst dancing on thin ice. I’m as old as god, and just as mean. Speak to me of emotion. Confess every sin as you undress for the very last time. Sing to me a song, of a moment before everything went wrong. If it’s all the same to you, I’ll remember how things used to be. That smile that eclipsed even the brightest sun. It will take me into the night. It will keep me safe despite the darkness that promises to submerge me once more.