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Those lovers who stab themselves in the neck every time something goes wrong. Those lovers who become strangers as if it didn’t mean a thing. All of those lonely, lonely lovers who lose their spark and end up like their parents so stale and predictable, never learning from their mistakes. There should be fire… Read more
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of what age you are or who you may be it does not matter, to me. but I read something that you wrote and it runs scampers through my mind every now and then without me knowing. and i hope that makes you happy because because you chose to plant the seed instead of contemplating […]… Read more
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As I’m writing and drinking my wine, I remember the way my grandad used to help me do my tie whenever the occasion arose for me to wear one. I remember the scent of his hands and his gentle but clumsy manner as he looped and uncrossed the thing until I looked like a good… Read more
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Each written piece is a love letter I’m sending straight to your heart. Each syllable an attempt to prove to you that the man I am is the poet you said I could never be. I don’t care much for the opinions and views of those around me. They can sink in a river… Read more
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There’s a certain poetry about your body it must be said. There’s a certain charm and sex that speaks in hushed tones that keep me from growing old whenever I feel my age. Of course, I can’t deny the ageing process. The grey hairs are here already and these bones of mine ache when… Read more
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The sound of wind chimes comes to me through the window and for some reason I’m not sure of, I feel so desperately sad. Closing my eyes, I see her dancing in a void, and the delicate beauty of it is reminiscent of the sensation of a moth’s wings tickling the insides of my clasped… Read more
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As I hang on your arm in a crowded room, we act like a Punch and Judy show. There’s blood in my mouth and lipstick on my collar, and it’s all because of you. We argue. We make-up and fuck while dreaming of Old Detroit and the fires that burn on its outskirts. In… Read more
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As the sun comes in through the window, I work on a few sentences to conjure something of merit. As I go ahead and open the door to the other side, I pass her a handful of literary lube as she tries so hard to tickle herself into action. If it doesn’t work, she’ll… Read more
Author S. K. Nicholas 