Author S. K. Nicholas

Spooning for a heightened state of awareness. Choking on dreams at 3 am so ashamed at ever having dreamt at all. You forget the names of lovers, especially the ones that never had any fire. Especially those that never made you gasp for air by taking you to the point of no return. It’s not all about teeth and tits, but when the offer’s there, it’s hard to say no. There’s beauty in this life, and at times it hurts like a bone peeping through skin, but lust is a solvent, ready to abuse at will. Let it reduce. Let it cut through these days of steady perseverance. Writing. Isolation. Fire at night, and misery by morning. The hand of nature and addiction, all cancerous and stinging as the days blur into one. Stuffing dead leaves into plastic bags, those secret hours we spent fucking without heating bubble once more in my dirty loins. Just as bad as the rest. Just as low as everyone else. Time travel. Supervoids. Lizard girl with pretty brown eyes to choke me as the name of my father shatters in a dream within a dream. She rests on the cusp of my understanding, but every time I shoot, she shifts elsewhere.