Author S. K. Nicholas

x and i: a novel

a journal for damned lovers vol 1-3

  • A Warm Place

      When the moment arises, I fetch a memory of you and put it into words. When the doorway opens, I take a slice of dead time and in my own strange way, make it come alive. This is how I get my kicks. This voodoo shit. This magic that drains me as much as… Read more

  • A Luxury

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  • The Streets

      In a disused phone booth, I piss away a week’s wages and shiver as if someone were walking over my grave. With my mouth wide open and fingers clenched, I wonder how I got here but the events of the evening have long since escaped me. Observing the streets from relative obscurity, the sights… Read more

  • Therapy?

      I’m on my hands and knees crawling around in the mud. Not sure why. Could be that I’m drunk as a skunk, or that I’ve overdosed on her fumes and am now somewhere in the midst of obsession and frenzy with no way of coming down. Is it the back garden or a field… Read more

  • The moon brought me back.

    Originally posted on Daffniblog: I’m not happy with who I’ve become. They say if you’re not happy with something about yourself, change it. But then would it be hindering my true nature? I do miss the numbness sometimes. My uppers and downers and routines that made me feel everything at once then nothing at all.… Read more

  • 13 O’clock

      It’s cold, and it’s raining, and my quiff is soaked and matted against my forehead, but here you come skipping down the stairwell and into my waiting arms. You’re fifteen minutes late but time lost its meaning years ago if indeed it ever had meaning to begin with. There are kisses and then your… Read more

  • “Gravity” from Rana Kelly’s Book Superstition from Sudden Denouement Publishing

    Originally posted on Sudden Denouement Collective: “Gravity” from Rana Kelly’s Book Superstition from Sudden Denouement Publishing “GRAVITY” My Heart is an Island, Safe away from society and succor my Soul is the Sand. Tiny crushed pieces of earth and skeletons. Time and death and birth, endless cycles of creation and destruction cushion for your bare… Read more

  • Chairs Missing

      Maybe I did it on a whim, or perhaps it was the memory of your slick and slender body that at last forced my hands into action? Could it be that your image was what made me salivate again, or do my desires run deeper than I had ever anticipated? Are these words ruled… Read more

  • Disappearers

      Dead generation this. Dead generation that. People not as people but as beer turds that glisten in the toilet the morning after the decade before. There are no cultures, and there are no horizons, just these shapes that come in and out of focus before disappearing completely as if they were never here to… Read more

  • The Opposite of Whatever You Think Love Means

      As we walk hand in hand it’s dark and we’re pissed and you’re my sweetness. There are no words tonight, only your hips and my drunkenness as the layers between us dissolve like tablets in a paper cup. Sharing a cigarette, we drink coffee and people watch while talking about the universe but as much… Read more