Author S. K. Nicholas

Flowers shooting roots into damp earth. Neurosis, in full bloom with petals so striking. Oh, such a cute brunette. Oh, those curves, just out of reach and throbbing like veins full of disappearing ink. Sinking in, my breath’s soiled with cigarettes and bottled beer. Beneath her floral dress, she craves what I am. Hitching up those patterns of curiosity, I taste flesh and oil with ease. Bones and baby teeth. Wicked child, so greedy and eager for a little bit more. So fell a victim, with arms bent back. Innocence taken in a gust of wind; rivers and wombs, with secrets so rich and fine. Eyes of wine mirrored to infinity. In her mouth, I am king. Monument’s secreting at will from her touch. Y’all know how it goes. Cracked ice and metal pipes. Knives in line to the ground while all the lovers serenade cheapness. Thighs like snow and bellies ripe like fruit. Pressing my hands onto where she births, my smile dissolves when assaulted with digital imagery. A lifetime of attack follows. Because someone has to pay for the way I’ve been treated. Absent lovers and rings of death marked upon my hips. They give no children; that act has been denied. Lighting a cigarette, the stars shine upon her. Dancing in her parents garden, she seems so beautiful. So heavenly against the woman she’ll become. In mid-conversation, she looks over and smiles so true; she melts my heart in an instant. Sometimes in life, people come along who you should keep hold of no matter what the cost. But the days can be cruel. They betray your feelings and leave you dangling in the wind. Sometimes, people know how you feel, but they degrade themselves just the same. Golden sunshine, and hyena teeth so sharp. Golden syrup on toast, and the way she hides those tears. She’s so lonely; she thinks there’s no one, but the angels are with her always. They sing a silent chorus wherever she goes. Someday, I hope she realises. Maybe one day, she’ll feel the music of the universe, pumping through her heart so vibrant and glorious. But for now, all I can do is preach the destruction of imagery. Every living creature, born to die beneath an old, cruel sun.