Author S. K. Nicholas

These bags of bones. These humans so captivated by all that’s useless. Bodies that grow old and dreams that die along with the last days of childhood. You’re so beautiful, and yet you’re in love with climbing the golden ladder that leads only to death. Fitting in. Succeeding with others. I should worship these things too, but I’d much rather we spend the day in bed fucking while watching the snow fall outside my window. Sharing the sense of oneness with someone so that everything else becomes meaningless. Let me write books; let me speak words that place me in exile. My heart sings, but only for a while. It wants to be free, but freedom exists only in a world without others. Hyperventilate as you realise how close we are to the great beyond. Such a thin line, even thinner than the one that separates us from madness. Lunatics we need to be if ever we’re to tread where destiny awaits. It takes years; it takes decades. It takes dedication. Sacrifices are made, and they taunt at every opportunity. Real-life is boredom. Fantasy, and the creation it brings- that’s where we belong. Not here. Press the button. Embrace the bomb. Obliterate all that remains of your previous life; the next is the one we need. Walk with me. Speak words that dance with mine. Let’s feed each other until we’re swimming in the oceans of far away planets. Escapism. Truism. The morning sun to serenade us as we kiss. It’s the last thing we’ll see before we become silhouettes.