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It clings to your fingers as you stand there smoking your cigarette. It dribbles from your chin as your eyes shine like those of a cat’s as cars speed past like bullets. When it drips and drools and drips again from that pretty little wide-open mouth, I’m not far behind. When it tumbles to… Read more
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Originally posted on Inked Thoughts and Midnight Monologues: ? The light from the old bulb dies down slowly and in the fading of its iridescence, I find myself drunk in the very idea of your flesh. It’s mine to own and yet, your wings take flight and disappear before my eyes in an instant. You’re… Read more
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In a slow embrace somewhere on the outskirts of nowhere, we smoke cigarettes wishing for war while remembering how simple things used to be back when there was only love. Love and Sunday afternoons and walks and talks and not much of anything else as the falling leaves above our heads acted as metaphors… Read more
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Originally posted on Sudden Denouement Collective: In the boot of your car, there are several bottles of wine and a shovel of which we use to bury our secrets with because the world has no place for the likes of us. In your pocket, there are filters to block out the voices of those we… Read more
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Star child. Flickerer of matches and singer of useless songs. A suckerer of necks and seer of startling visions. Words and lyrics and bellyaches that lead to headaches that stretch across the days and weeks as if there was no other way other than this. And there isn’t, right? Let me sniff your nipples… Read more
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After work, there came a bath and a cigarette to ease my aching bones. An hour or so later and all dried off, I found myself in bed watching a compilation on YouTube of all the Neighbours intros from the 1990’s. Y’know, the Australian soap opera set in Ramsay Street? As a kid, they showed… Read more
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Originally posted on Daffniblog: Sometimes I want it to be more than a metaphor. And how badly I want to see him tell me the things he thinks. Other times, I prefer the metaphor over reality because, like they say, truth can be hard to swallow. I wander between here and those dark places. They… Read more
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Walking hand in hand through buildings that will one day crumble into dust, we observe the pale traces of life in silence. Drinking from our warm cans of beer, we know by morning it will be over, and the distance between us will be as it was, but in this tiny bubble, we smile and… Read more
Author S. K. Nicholas 