Author S. K. Nicholas

I kissed your throat, yet I still hate myself. There’s no destination I have in mind, not even your bed. Not even the drunken swaying of a man whose bleeding himself empty for the sake of his art. Or maybe it’s a lost lover, forever haunting just out of view. Either way, when I soak my tired bones in a bath after work and imagine you nude beneath my belly, I bite my lip and tell myself that I’m not a monster. Yet I am. Always sucking on young blood, these hands of mine never seem to learn. My love is alive, yet it’s buried in the dirt. Catch your breath, and fall into my arms. Breathe in my madness, and never look back. Others may have money, but they don’t have the soul. They have their place in society, yet they reek of the dead. Such is their limited sense of magic; such is their limited views of the fantastic, that they’ll never understand how to surf the night. When we link our fingers and take the plunge, the icy waters take us to a place deep into the maelstrom. It’s a place where we howl and scream and surge into the heart of sleeping beasts for a taste of what can never be known. Torn to pieces and sewn together as one, our love is born from chaos. It exists free of cages. Like a tiny animal, so pure and innocent yet with a fire inside that burns like my hate of all things plastic. Plastic culture. Plastic tits. These images they present to me, there’s nothing sexual about them. These torsos and shapeless limbs, they’re as erotic as victims of a knife fight. A priest with his head caved in, just the same as some whore with her bits out on the sidewalk. It arouses in me only the despair that I’m made of the same stuff. There’s only wonder, yet the rest will do their best to reduce me to just another brick in another piss stained wall. Winding roads leading to hearts brimming with an incredible light. Touch my face, kiss my lips. Suffer no one except me. See as me, and become infinite beneath the naked lightbulb. If you give me your word, I’ll give you mine. If you see the things that I see, I’ll put you on pedestal. I’ll put you in a painting, and that will be just fine. Swaying from side to side, and shaking your hips to my song, there’s only now. Speak something that cuts through me. Smash me to pieces, and do it again when I put myself back together. There’s no such thing as you and me, we’re one and the same, two lonely lovers, afraid of the morning after. Afraid of dim reality, yet alive if only for tonight.