Author S. K. Nicholas

Regurgitated dog turds. Lovers holding hands as if they know the score, but they know nothing at all, and when I close my eyes and cut the ties that bind I see us running for our lives and when you stand there talking I want to silence you with my lips because what else is there but to lose oneself to a state of mind that takes you places others would never believe? If the moment were to reveal itself, I would untether us. If you gave me a sign, I’d nibble your ear and then pull you through the mirror. So much of what drags me down is in my head, and yet it’s in my head where these visions surf the silver wave. And wave after wave they come, lifting me up and then smashing me to pieces. Useless people. Useless ideas. Always getting in the way with their reliance on a reality that has all the charm of a bloated corpse. Need to take a week off. Writing is freedom and power and pretty much everything else, and yet it drains me. To keep opening up the same old wounds- to bleed even when I’ve been bled dry. The fear is that if I take a week off, what if I never get back into it? What if I turn into a numbskull again? What if this time next year I’m working in a bank and buying designer clothes and going to fancy bars and clubs trying to impress people who aren’t even alive? What if I lose the magic? Writing gives me my kicks and helps me taste freedom in an unfree world, but it weighs me down. The word has got me under its thumb, and every day it puts me right where it wants. Just for a while, I’d like to not feel either elated or like death. Is there such thing as a middle ground- or would that mean going back to how I was before? It feels like I’m fucked. A slave to that which set me free. Or maybe I’m just out of sync and need to rediscover that original beat. Remember that song? King Crimson’s Neal and Jack and Me? Remember how I would imagine her dancing to it? Haven’t thought about her in a long time. Maybe I need to become obsessed again? Maybe I need to stir myself into action before that dickhead with the scythe comes and takes me to the place where all those drug cartel guys are hanging- y’know?

A Journal for Damned Lovers on Amazon.co.uk

A Journal for Damned Lovers on Amazon.com