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yeh, pouting, pointless, lipless beauty with those big, pretty eyes green, blue, doesn’t matter there’s nothing particular nothing memorable, about the likes of you you, who make them go weak at the knees making them abuse themselves at night gasping for air clutching hollow bones whilst thoughts of your body explode in their feeble, sweaty… Read more
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on sunday mornings when the sun comes flooding in through the window all of my mistakes and all of my regrets shine with a beauty that makes me smile from ear to ear the madness that burns brighter than the sun the sadness darker than the deepest sea it dazzles me completely sometimes, i fall… Read more
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Skeletal blowjobs. Cracks in plastic flesh spreading to the lonesome trees on the corner of 58th Street. Skyscrapers, oozing all the lust and sadistic dreams you could ever think of. Drinking causes flux, it dislodges boredom and makes softened bones feel real again. Painted women. Evil dripping from the corners of their cute little mouths. Lipstick… Read more
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my love grows in a secret garden long forgotten lost covered with weeds, branches reaching for sunlight with no reply, neglected flowers, buried beneath dead autumn leaves worms, crawling in the shadow of a broken swing it’s an ugly fucking garden, but it breaths like any other all it needs is a little care for… Read more
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In torture gardens, the bodies hang from trees. They swing, and they sway. Singing her name, the sky swallows a handful of flowers. Lipless and sucking, it showers them with saliva. Oranges, daffodils, rolling down the hill to the cusp of her dress. Beneath it, the oceans swell. They circle stars born from her womb.… Read more
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the sky collapses. falling down. like buildings. bodies. and as the songbird flies. towards the sun. my heart breaks. beyond the war. the war of ourselves. beyond the darkest days. through the fire. thats rages. survivors dying. silver linings no more. everything. crumbles. the agony of a thousand paintings. a million faces. merging. into a… Read more
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Originally posted on Write to Live: I think before I ever became an alcoholic, before I even tasted alcohol or tried drugs, I was already programmed to be this way. Before there was cocaine or vodka or sex or any of that, there was fantasy. There was escape. That was my first addiction. I remember… Read more
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As natural as sorrow Read more
Author S. K. Nicholas 