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It’s late evening, and I’m sat looking out the window while drinking beer. There’s a few streetlights dotted around and the occasional passing car, but that’s about it. Everything’s quiet. It seems so peaceful. So mundane. My fingers ache as does my back from poor posture, and I’m flipping between writing and nothingness. To combat… Read more
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When you taste my plague, how does it make you feel? Those thoughts that blossom in your mind when I reveal myself to you, how much is pleasure and how much is pain? With blackened eyes and hardened bones, I’m something you can never escape from. You know my name, but can never bring yourself… Read more
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I’m at the foot of your bed, watching you as you dream. My hands slipping in, my fingers spread existence wide open. They pick away at sweating sex. Always needing to taste, my mouth searches for yours in the darkness. My body on top, my teeth soon bite away. I’m a a bad machine, a… Read more
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There are times when all you want to do is give up. When the self belief you’ve always maintained just leaves you high and dry, the easiest thing to do is quit. All my life, I’ve known that I’ve been different from those around me. At first, I couldn’t put my finger on what it… Read more
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You’re going through the motions at work when those dreams you try not to think about begin flooding your senses. You try denying them not because they’re unpleasant, but because you don’t want to up disappointed. It’s something you’ve done your entire life, it’s nothing new, but when the dreams mean so much, it’s so… Read more
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The problem with life is there’s always tomorrow. It’s the bane of living. All those things you want to do, those words you want to say. They should be done today, but you always put them off. You tell yourself it can wait. Maybe tomorrow things will be better. Maybe tomorrow you’ll be more confident. But… Read more
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There’s a man by the side of the road. Mummified and spewing, his life is slipping away. Fingers clinging onto fragments, digging in with the fear of god. Of ulcers, bleeding and cancer black. Riddled with tongues, he rolls on the ashes of scorched asphalt. Self inflicted cuts. Torn muscle and open wounds. Too much… Read more
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Riddle me this, with larks rising and eyelids carved with symbols. In ivory tusk, she stalks the ground and spreads herself real good. The nature of my linguistics, found in the room without darkness. In the second sun of Autumn, all divided hearts are replaced with crescent moons. In the shrinking fathoms of our fathers,… Read more
Author S. K. Nicholas 