Author S. K. Nicholas

x and i: a novel

a journal for damned lovers vol 1-3

Uncategorized

  • She Sleeps With The Angels

    It’s in the trees, and upon her skinny wrists. It’s somewhere out of reach, and floating in the clouds. (Angel come closer, and bring me your dreams) All those yesterdays, those forgotten months and washed out faces. When life is somehow false, an apparition appears of what living should really be. When happiness is a… Read more

  • Oblivion And Bottled Beer

    All day long and I’m looking forward to losing myself. After work and a warm bath eases aching bones. A cigarette to make everything calm. Dressed in my best, the mirror shows that I’m a regular guy. But the mirror is false. A little food and then a walk a back into town. To a… Read more

  • This Is An Exit, Back

    This is a way of leaving things behind. Of tasting things that were once real. She’s looking into the future. She’s looking at stars that have been dead for years. There’s all the love in the world, hanging from her neck. All the dreams you could ever muster, floating inside her head. There’s nothing more… Read more

  • More Things I once Wrote

    I wrote this in September 2011 useless human. there’s no need for you, no need at all. jumpers from the twin towers, torn pages from a diary. one look at them tells me that it’s only flesh, no essence, no soul, just tight skin and mammary glands. photos never taken, childhoods lost in the haze… Read more

  • Something I Once Wrote

    I wrote this in September 2011. it’s a golden hue, the night horizon that stretches out forever into darkness. shimmering lights, eyes of wine, eyes of dreams. autumn leaves, the scent of lovers in the chill air. it’ll be christmas soon, another wasted year, closer to death, flesh and bone into sand. my hand aches… Read more

  • Careful With That Axe, Stephen

    I’ve been sleeping all day pretty much. I’m tired, and my bones ache. Even a warm bath can’t seem to heat them up. My hands don’t belong to me, they go against my wishes. My body just won’t move. It’s given up so it seems. In my bed looking out the window, all I can… Read more

  • The Taste Of Spring Upon Her Pale Neck

    Self esteem is a bore, or so it was once said. Being kind to old ladies makes me feel happy. Smiling at the trivial things, like the way they appreciate you giving them a little of your time. Talking about all those meaningless subjects like the weather, or the way their memory isn’t what it… Read more

  • Dazzling Eyes and No Exits

    Something to do with the sea, and the way she curls into a ball whilst sleeping. The taste of the ocean air, the moisture that rests upon my flesh. With sunshine illuminating the shore, my mind drifts away to all those lost moments. I can’t say what they are, for that would destroy the magic,… Read more

  • Several Little Deaths

    Melting faces and ladybirds. Give me the taste of wine and let me celebrate the evening. Give me a girls hard body to grind up against. All the fucking and sucking of yesterday, I miss it more than ever. I miss those summers of doing nothing, of existing in a blur of oil paint and… Read more

  • The Ghost of What She Is

    By the river she is unseen, infinite and dark as the shadows roll across mirrored water. Where no one can see her, she undresses beneath the dead sun, her pale flesh glowing like snow. She is translucent and opulent, like shards of shards, dreamlike and swollen. The horizon lined with gums and tongues, redder than… Read more