Author S. K. Nicholas

Every tear that you ever shed, another reminder of what’s invisibly changing you. Every drunken kiss, a reason to not wake up the morning after. Those connections we share despite our situation. The devil in you, and the angel in me. Sometimes reversed, sometimes the same. Handfuls of your hair, and then the next minute I’m being sick in the kitchen sink. Stumbling outside into Autumn sun, stale cigarettes and the beep of a distant heart monitor push me to the point of no return. Naked beneath the black eyed sun. Clothes scattered on the floor along with keys and coins and the remnants of forgotten desire. Last night, and the faces of everyone you ever thought you knew still begging for forgiveness. Weird vampire. Medusa girl smearing lipstick across her sullen chin. Images never to be known. So many exits, so many broken promises as the sky rains down like the fury of a beaten dog. Teeth so sharp, and afraid of water so stupidly. You stumble and stutter my name. You curl into my arms whilst nausea prevents me from being real. Cups of tea to make it all better, although it never gets better, not really. The years come and go, but I’m still making the same mistakes, still fucking up like before. Yet maybe that’s the point. Maybe the reasons and answers have been looking at me the whole time. My reflection so simple, perhaps the key has been there all along. Looking. Observing. Seeing what’s there, and putting it down onto paper. Ugliness, beauty. One and the same, forever dancing on the edges of the end yet always managing to cling on to dear life. You’re my lover yet a stranger in the same breath. You’re part of me, yet a million miles away like a comet with no name.

I pretend that I’m well, yet I’m falling apart. Each and every day, one step closer to the grave and it haunts me more than I’ll ever let on. Songs for despair. Melodies for madness. Give me a Welsh girl to make it all better. Cure my melancholy, somehow, anyhow, I don’t care just ease my pain and make it all right before I’m drowned for good. They say don’t frown, and I’m trying my best. I imagine you on my bed. Your body a monument to truth, I suck the life out of you whilst thinking of the mountains of far away planets. Mars and Venus. Maybe Pluto too. Your lips far too kissable, and as I place my mouth upon your breast, there’s always a reason to never leave, although for the life of me I can’t think what. Warm bedsheets, and knee deep in snow. Head down as the curtains block out the dirty world outside, our hearts melt unseen. I know I’m a bad machine, but I’m one good fuck. I know I’m a walking disease of introvert apathy, yet you can’t deny that I take you places you’d never believe. Not an actor, just a lover sometimes a writer, yet never both. How many times do we do it to ourselves? How many times do we sabotage our chances of happiness out of the useless need for revenge and self control? Just leave it all behind, and embrace whatever makes you feel at peace. Others are unimportant. Outside of me and you, no one else means a thing. It’s a simple rule. It’s a golden ring. Be strong. Be wonderful. As free as the birds above our lowly heads, and as poetic as our tired minds. Eyes aligned and fingers linked, there’s nothing else, there’s nothing more, than this.