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She got these marks on her arms. Little ones. Little scratches like those you get from bared cat claws, but ain’t no cat done these. These done by glass, maybe scissor. Could be she dragged the instrument over that pale flesh cause she was bored. Could be she wanted to fight pain with pain. Or… Read more
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Originally posted on Brave & Reckless: ? Kindra Austin, Jimmi Campkin, Christine Ray and Mariah Voutilainen are excited to announce that they will soon be launching Indie Blu(e). Indie Blu(e) is designed to be a vehicle to support both self-published writers and those published through small independent presses, as well as the readers who are… Read more
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Originally posted on Letsblogdotcom: You grew up reading Shakespeare under streetlights and pale grey skies, celebrated and seemingly wise drunks like Hemingway were the occupants of your time. Polaroids in your pockets of warm days running into shops that sold records from the 90’s your friends never liked. Blueberry bubblegum sticky under the seats of… Read more
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I’m hanging around on some street. It’s hot, balmy, and when I close my eyes, I can tell she’s nearby. I can’t see her, but I can feel her. I always feel her. Each beat of her heart mirrors my own, and just like that, I clap my hands and stand on the tips of… Read more
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Sun floods the streets of the town and there’s music and laughter and skinny white guys with their tops off showing shit tattoos and women squeezing out as much flesh from diminishing clothes as they possibly can but flesh is flesh no more no less what’s sexy to me is a mind that can bring… Read more
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That scent of hers as she skips around it’s like donuts and fields of corn that sway in the breeze beneath a sky of milk white teeth and when she closes her eyes she becomes the corn and how she sways and how the sun becomes her and even though she’s broken and sometimes dead… Read more
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Originally posted on Sudden Denouement Collective: We build sandcastles just to destroy the pure, wet sand, dreaming of pineapples, messages in bottles and California. Suntanned toes and blue lipstick, red dyed hair that runs in the rain and streaks your shoulderblades with plastic blood. Lights twinkle over the harbour like your teeth in the sunlight. … Read more
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Behind my eyes, she’s got these eyes of her own. These brown eyes like Geena Davis in Cronenberg’s The Fly and how they know and how they glow. As a line from one of Shakespeare’s sonnets leaves my mouth, she slides down her stockings sat perched on the foot of her bed. Those legs, those… Read more
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Some TV and a hot dog washed down with Cherry Coke followed by images of a car crash on the M1 that pave the way for daydreams involving alluring women with supple hips slithering upon hot white sand and then it’s stray dogs burning on the streets of Moscow and for hours I’m just sat… Read more
Author S. K. Nicholas 