Author S. K. Nicholas

x and i: a novel

a journal for damned lovers vol 1-3

  • Black Cotton Wool

      No lousy poets, and no talk about love, either. No mention of the future or empowerment, just coffee and toast and the emptiness of the morning after the night before. Forget romance, all I want is for you to cradle my bones and keep me safe for a while. Wrap me up in black… Read more

  • YouTube: Truth/Untruth/Two Readings

      Made a video. There’s talk about how I approach the subject of ‘truth’ within my writing, and life in general. There are also readings of two pieces taken from the second volume of A Journal for Damned Lovers, which is now available to purchase from Amazon. Those two pieces in question are Werewolves of… Read more

  • Brain Sweeties

      Wiping my face and sucking on a cigarette, I glimpse a lynching on the streets of a Brazilian Favela, and the sight of man’s inhumanity to man is enough to take my mind off how much I want to see her suffer. Well, at least for an hour or so. As some slum kid… Read more

  • Music Makers

      The glow of angel eyes and the scent of lemon drizzle cake that reminds me of her mum’s old place. A car ride to a strange town that still contains her ghost and where the air tastes like the strip of flesh behind her left ear, the area I rest my nose against while… Read more

  • Writer’s Club

      Drink some beer, listen to Jeff Buckley, and stab yourself in the chest until you feel something. Those are my three tips on how to become a better writer. When you shimmer and pulsate, mutilate your heart, and then, once you come alive, begin work on destroying your mind. Disturb yourself until being disturbed is… Read more

  • She Blue

      Stood there in a daze as I tell you to come on over, you open the window and stick your head out wondering whether or not it would kill you if you were to throw yourself onto the pavement below. It looks too close to the ground though, and what good would broken bones… Read more

  • There, There

      She’s behind every door, and she’s in every mirror. She’s a phantom just like me, and when we’re drunk and skipping down the street, the tears in our eyes shine as bright as the lights of passing cars that see us not as humans but ghosts beneath white sheets. She’s broken, and she’s used,… Read more

  • Temptress

    Originally posted on Inked Thoughts and Midnight Monologues: These daydreams strangle me with a passionate grasp, they clutch me till breathlessness takes over and leave me just as I am about to die of ecstasy. If I could, my hands would run all over your body and soul alike till I’ve stripped you off naked… Read more

  • The Glass Castle In A Vase (or perhaps Franklin or Einstein or Gauguin or your local sub-bridge bum)- Mick Hugh

    Originally posted on Sudden Denouement Collective: The Glass Castle In A Vase (or perhaps Franklin or Einstein or Gauguin or your local sub-bridge bum) I find myself in one place: it’s too intuitive to be real. A man of stature and possibility beaming a light that shines no farther than the wall. Certainty is absurd… Read more

  • Lizard Boy

      Sometimes I preach, and sometimes I’m too bored to do anything other than scratch my balls watching TV while smoking rolled cigarettes that stain the fingers of my right hand the colour of those fields Van Gogh used to paint. Sometimes, when I’m feeling innocent, I write poetry and think of myself as a… Read more