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Days in bed. Three, four, six, seven. Can’t remember. The air is warm like a fart. It tastes of breasts and butter. Damp bedsheets and empty bottles of beer. Books, biscuits, and slices of stale bread used to line a poorly stomach prone to the aches and pains of being a user of the… Read more
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Flaming Sambuca’s, tattoos beneath pert breasts, and bar jobs serving housing estates whose residents never think of anything beyond the end of their coked-up noses. Shall we watch Shaun of the Dead while eating pizza and chocolate gateau? Shall we make love soon after and then stroll hand in hand through the falling snow… Read more
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Strands of hair. Women. Bleeding gums. Lost satellites that keep drifting further into the unknown reaches of the universe. Is it still Sunday in the mouth of a wormhole? Does love still exist on the event horizon of a black hole? When you curl into a ball and wish your life away, do you… Read more
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Nude bodies foaming at the mouth as bombs drop at our feet creating patterns in the rubble that resemble flowering na-na’s. Shiny teeth ready to sink in as we move through the streets and subways in search of what makes us tick. Is it the written word, or the electricity that surges through our… Read more
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An ex-lover reclines on a bed we once made love upon. Lifting up her skirt, she slides down her panties and shows me her sex. It’s weapon; a knife in the belly, and a bullet between the eyes that devours my heart in the time it takes to slice the face of a thief.… Read more
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The trees are the same as the streets and the same as all those faces that gulp for air while pretending this is what we hoped for when we were children. There were no wars back in our infancy, only cartoons and toys and the promise of weekends playing computer games drinking Coke. The… Read more
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We drink and sink and rise and flow and spin around the sun and then we kiss and even though it might not be love, because we feel it, that somehow seems enough. If it comes from the guts, then it’s perfect, and although it isn’t pretty, it’s beautiful because it makes us shiver… Read more
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She drinks a bottle of milk to ease her stomach pains while getting through a packet of Reds. Y’know, the one’s Jack Torrence smoked in The Shining? It’s a dirty habit as are my frequent trips to the bathroom where I abuse myself under the pretence of suffering from a severe bout of diarrhoea.… Read more
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Dressing gowns soaked with rain. Cigarettes that slip and twist and fall from skinny fingers that should know better. The smell of what it is to be human- it makes me horny and it makes me sad. On the kerb, there’s a vehicle with its engine running that’s been parked there for the best… Read more
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Supermarkets. Cafes. Camden. London Zoo. The hum of her uterus and the undeniable song it sings to me when I’m sleeping. Warehouses. Garden centres. Corner shops opposite the petrol station that sells those energy drinks that taste like the breastmilk of a Greek goddess. There’s a telephone booth I stand within to light my… Read more
Author S. K. Nicholas 