Author S. K. Nicholas

Listening to King Crimson and picking at scabs until they bleed, I hear wind chimes and the distant cries of young lovers as their lives implode for the seventh time this week. As mountains shift and stars melt upon my tongue, it snows despite being the end of April. Walking the streets a few hours ago bathed in sunshine and ice, the cars were at a standstill, and somewhere up ahead I glimpsed the remains of a girl who used to be beautiful. Old photographs capture the look of innocent desire in her eyes like warm sunshine and honey-smeared breasts, but such wonders no longer exist. They are obsolete; just like the thrill of her sex, or the pleasures of prising off a fingernail and posting it through someone’s letterbox in the early hours of the morning. Removing my clothes and placing them in a black plastic bag, I run a bath and shave off all my body hair while inspecting my testicles. They’re too lumpy by far. Peeling back my foreskin, I think of all those ghost children that have shot out my cock and disappeared into the realm of yesterday. So many fleeting moments of joy both alone and with others- I’m sure there’s meaning to it, but for now it leaves me feeling indifferent. Sinking beneath the hot, soapy water, the phone rings a dozen times before cutting off. Next comes a knock at the front door, and then the chimes of the doorbell. Paying attention only to the sound of birdsong as it drifts through the open window, the fading light of the sun causes shadows to creep up the wall until they reach the ceiling. Dancing out of sight, some girl I used to know comes to mind as I close my eyes and sink until I’m submerged. She’s moving  to the sound of sounds in a club somewhere, a temptress in a blue dress and suspenders. Losing myself in her gaze, the tattoos on her flesh change shape beneath flashing lights, and as electricity passes between us, her body aligns with mine. Years have dispersed, yet the energy of our union remains. It tickles like a feather; it weighs heavy on my sunken heart.