Author S. K. Nicholas

  Watching Donnie Darko, I’m taken back to my university days and how everything felt possible in regards to my future. In many ways, it still does, because I’ve done my best not to settle down and become a regular and respectable nobody-who-thinks-he’s-somebody. I mean, of course, I’m a nobody, but it’s okay, it doesn’t… Read more

  Her eyes contain bathwater and the echoes of tumbling skyscrapers the likes of which I’ve never seen. They feed me alcohol even though I’m trying to quit, but whenever the burn hits my stomach and reduces me despite my best efforts at appearing in control of all things, it’s difficult to say no. Growing… Read more

  It’s been said I grind my teeth while sleeping, for two former partners told me so. I talk as well, but no evidence remains of the words that have ever left my nocturnal lips. Purchasing a mouth guard to stop myself-a-grinding when the Sandman comes-a-calling, I drop it in a bowl of boiling water… Read more

  She lies upon the duvet like an island with the half-open window letting in a breeze that blows the curls of her hair. Outside, there’s a man who shuffles to and from town at the same time every day. He looks like a stroke victim; his left arm lifeless, and the side of his… Read more

  Wrapped in blankets marked with cigarette burns, she crawls deformed at the foot of the bed as my hand slides up her laced skirt. Raining hard as my body lacks the energy to do anything but recover, in a field of lepers and dogs and cunts, the nature of my illness is nearby yet… Read more

  She cries with her face turned towards a slither of golden sun while passing invisibly as I sit alone in the spare bedroom drinking wine unable to write. Leaning back in my chair, I want to set the world on fire with delirious words, yet the words don’t come, so I just sit there… Read more

  We listen to The Smiths and it’s raining and it’s winter and we’re in love because the clouds say so even though we can never understand a single thing they come out with. Maybe it’s because we’re drunk on sambuca shots and green tea and the scent of blankets drenched in citrus spray we… Read more

  Stood on the balcony of some apartment block, there’s a woman who smokes a pack a day. She’s worth a fuck, but there’s not much else going on if you look past her body. Don’t get me wrong; it’s a good body, one worthy of some serious attention for sure, but meh, it’s just… Read more

  Down at the tennis courts, my anxieties are nowhere to be seen. After all, they don’t call me Mr Lizard for nothing. Pretending to read a newspaper, I’ve cut two small holes through the pages, and when I bring it close to my face, I can see women and their glorious bodies all sweaty… Read more

  The flooded quarry is a sight for sore eyes, as is the memory of her rising to the surface and gasping for air against the raging undercurrent. Sketching droplets of water that hang just out of reach into my Moleskine, I’m wondering if she could be a lover or a whore, or if I’m… Read more