Author S. K. Nicholas

The time is whatever. Other people are whatever. Love is a screwdriver thrust into a tender belly, or perhaps a razor blade slashing a slender neck leaning out to be kissed- whatever hurts most. But the pain shouldn’t be avoided, nor should it be worn with shame, because to hurt is to feel, and feeling… Read more

  The mountains are alcoholic. The clouds above them, they too are alcoholic. The rivers of thawed out ice that flow from their summit, they taste like a billion shots of chilled Sambuca ready to take us far away from the piss-stained streets that offer nothing but the same old faces and same reasons to… Read more

    When I was a kid, I wanted to be a wrestler. After that initial decision had lost some of its charm, I decided on being a historian, then a builder, a gardener, a painter, and finally, in my twenties, a writer. Truth be told, the idea of being a writer seemed a lot more… Read more

  There’s dust in the air I try not to breathe, but it’s just impossible to resist. There’s sunshine that keeps tickling my toes as they poke out the foot of the bed but the day can go ahead and wait. I’m busy being lazy, so leave me alone as I lie here dreaming of… Read more

  Amidst the words and ruminations about the women I’ve loved, there’s nothing more beautiful than the memory of her falling asleep, or perhaps the image of the golden arches of a McDonald’s rising from the broken landscape of a town we once called home. On our way back from a night out in a… Read more

  Regurgitated dog turds. Lovers holding hands as if they know the score, but they know nothing at all, and when I close my eyes and cut the ties that bind I see us running for our lives and when you stand there talking I want to silence you with my lips because what else… Read more

  It’s the colour we make as we kiss outside the bookstore freezing to the bone unaware that our bus is ready to leave. It’s what my mind is full of as these fingers slip through the layers you wear until they work their way beneath your bra. I’m a neon lover in a city… Read more

  At 3 am she’s curled into a ball haunted by the idea of growing old and losing her looks because she’s seen it happen to her mother and she knows one way or the other it’s going to happen to her as well. The blanket hides her body just as the snow covered her footsteps as… Read more

  Suffragette City full of glue sniffers and cheerleaders that dance on pavillions overlooking crowds of addicts and clones and clones and addicts and those women you get who claim to be vulnerable but are really black widows. Pouting and doe-eyed they mesmerise and pull you in and kiss your lips and fill you with… Read more