Author S. K. Nicholas

There are no words of encouragement that seem to fit. Gut feelings are all there ever is, that and copious amounts of alcohol to help ease the madness in. I see so many lovers; so many bodies I imagine beneath mine, and yet they lack meaning. They appear so real, and yet there’s nothing there but flesh. Sitting outside work in the smoking shelter, the cat that’s run away from home finds me every time. He jumps up and sits next to me as I drink my tea. Stroking his head, he meows before settling down. Such a pretty cat, and whenever he looks into my eyes, I know that my heart belongs to animals more than it ever will to humans. Sing me a song. Do something that cuts through the bullshit the rest of them find so appealing. Once you accept you’re not like the rest, things get better. It’ll take time, and they’ll be so many nights you lay awake unable to breathe through fear of having wasted your life, but know you’re doing it just right. If you’re away from the crowd, and your days are plagued by self-doubt, then everything is where it needs to be. The path to salvation is a troubled one. Greatness doesn’t come easy; these images aren’t cheap. They command nothing other than pain and faith in what can’t be seen or promised. She speaks to me so naively, and I want to promise her things will change, and yet despite my liar’s tongue, the lies won’t come.