Author S. K. Nicholas

Your body so lifeless and riddled with hesitation marks as those about you know exactly what they’re doing. Only they don’t, so quit sinking and rise above it. Your clothes in plastic bags as you drift from one disaster to the next. Sleep on the stairs; sleep in the arms of those you don’t love. Comfort brings its own rewards, but none of them will ever touch your soul. A life spent pandering to others is a life wasted; it’s another reason to feel ashamed as you gaze at yourself in the bathroom mirror at 2 am. Lines around your eyes that weren’t there last year. The flesh of your breasts hanging heavier than when you were seventeen. You’re still beautiful, but not as fresh. A Flower yes, but one that wilts in the shade of a summer sun. Time to speak with a voice you don’t recognise. Time to let go of what you cling to out of the fear of being alone. Know yourself, and shed the skin that doesn’t reflect the girl still dancing within. Purity shines, it’s just harder to see these days. Honesty isn’t a weakness and acceptance won’t save you from the demons that push you further and further into harms way. There are those that chase dragons and those like you that need someone to justify their existence. There should be nothing save for the purity of intent. Nothing but you and your shadow, collapsing in awe as revelation after revelation sucks the air from out of your lungs. Such a need for structure when in our hearts we desperately long to be out of control, as in those first moments of love when the world stops spinning and tomorrow never comes. Specs of dust that float through the air as you lay in bed not moving. Falling into your open palms, all you can do is cry. We grow old, but time only defeats when we allow it. Each night I rage against my fate; I write to fight against a machine that persists in telling me to remain silent. Resist the imagery of others. Deny time by following me into a realm without boundaries where every touch is a kiss, and every kiss is a fuck.