Author S. K. Nicholas

  She dwells at the bottom of the sea. She is an orchid- a vision behind the mirror that itches my teeth and dances under my tongue. She draws the curtains and touches herself as wild horses storm the sidewalk stamping on those who never believed in her love. Fingers sinking in, she leans her… Read more

  The past is a dirty magazine. Its pages stuck together with dried seed from all the times I’ve leafed through and perved over images I know far too well. Writing to remember, and drinking to forget- I’m not quite sure how it works, either. Fell asleep thinking about Winona Ryder’s breasts with a smile spreading… Read more

  Safe poets who write their lives away never once getting to the source of what it means to be alive. We were made to suffer, and yet they act as if the poetry of our souls were second best to second rate stories involving characters with less flesh on them than some dumb fuck… Read more

  She does a line of coke that snakes its way around a crushed spider on the coffee table. Legs in the air with a belly full of beer, I light the Polaroid and sniff the melting plastic as if it were a newborn baby. Taking the clipper in hand and shaving off the hair that… Read more

  As we rise and climb higher than the stars we are celestial. Rushing through dead air we twist and scream and as I turn to face you, tears roll from the corners of your beaming eyes. Laughing so hard, your hair trails behind you like a magic carpet or a blanket caught in a storm… Read more

  There are no cell mates, only words. Sometimes there are two hearts beating as one, but for now, there are night shifts that bleed into day shifts and scattered moments of fire that burn so fierce they illuminate all that was once forgotten, and yet such resistance against the dying night always comes at a… Read more

  You once wrote me a letter detailing how you no longer wished for us to be together, because you wanted to be with someone more for real. Perhaps you had a point, in fact, I’m quite sure of it. For longer than I care to admit I wanted to win you back by proving… Read more

  She showers after we do our thing because she’s not too keen on my scent. It’s the smoke that does it most, but there’s something else she can’t quite put her finger on. Scrubbing between her legs and then her neck, she turns her face to the ceiling and eats the falling water while… Read more

  Deadfucks and gasoline and eroded enamel from drinking too many fizzy drinks. Lady bumps and ankle socks and fantasies involving a sea of broken wood that drowns a thousand Japanese workers as they stand in awe of the tsunami that comes racing towards them just like a comet. Blue Eyes. Green eyes. Dreams of… Read more

  Albert Fish. Son of Sam. Confession letters regarding my adultery and the fear of death that never seems to shift. Joining me in the bath, you performed an act that left me temporarily blind, and I was sure the grim reaper was waiting the other side of the door ready to strike me dead… Read more