Author S. K. Nicholas

Angels and butterflies that crumble beneath my touch. All those nights where the bodies crushed me- where so many faces did their best to make me just like them. So many women I wanted to be with, and so many trees that felt the warmth of my piss as I made the drunken journey back home. Sometimes alone, sometimes not. There comes a time when you have to make tough decisions, but I’d rather not. Best run a bath and lay there for an hour or two reading the obituaries. A few I’ve known have gone, but not many. I hope to be the last, but who can tell. That perfume she used to wear, it comes and goes. Some kind of heat, a perfection among the mundane. Traces of magic as I finish my cigarette counting down the minutes until the day is over with. Jotting down fragments of prose, I imagine her body and close my eyes. The lines write themselves- I am just a passenger. The world is a spec; humans as dust, yet if this is true, then why does love have the ability to cut a man to pieces? Is it an element, or nothing more than illusion? We are bones and blood. Organic in every sense, yet why does her smile still leave me numb? This circuitry is incomplete. This fire too fierce. Drowned in yesterday, and made by the footsteps others so often overlook. Traces of existence and beauty that stun even after so long. I feel like a shadow, but inside of me, there remains a lover. Life is a horror at its most profound. You don’t have to look for evil- it sinks its teeth in at every opportunity, and yet something sublime and weightless is waiting in equal measure. It’s how you dance, and who you choose to hold tight. I’m not sure what’s going on, and yet somehow I am. It’s been clear to me for so long despite my best attempts at blocking it out.