Author S. K. Nicholas

x and i: a novel

a journal for damned lovers vol 1-3

Beauty

  • B

    handprints and footprints in the sands  desperate cries that belonged to just you and I  there’s no other way, and with each and every day  my bones grow colder  so much older than before  there’s just no going back, no changing the beast that I am  Read more

  • It’s in Your Style of Beauty

    It’s down all those streets you had long since forgotten. It’s in the trees that called your secret name so many years ago. There’s no reason to fear all that has passed, just take a peek inside, and see what you find. Some buildings remain the same, whilst others have crumbled. Some relics have long Read more

  • Blinded By Perversion

    In heaven, his hands and feet will be reattached. In heaven, she will swallow an ocean of man’s dirty disease. Some homeless drunk picks up dead cigarettes from beside me whilst my eyes drift to nowhere in particular. Bodies a mass of self obsessed tumours. Your love isn’t love. It’s just a way of protecting Read more

  • The Fall

      All avenues between our smoke filled mouths cast aside. Beer then whiskey as rain pisses down in the streets we walked as students. Clouds and trees and endless cars. Sadness a drug as you wrap your body in a tight city dress. Those legs in black stockings. Those breasts beneath the image of a Read more

  • One Of Your Own

    Godless like a blowjob on the outskirts of a dirty town. Smeared mirrors on stained walls. A father kills his daughter. Breaks her teeth then tries to glue them back in. Throttled and betrayed. Purchased like cattle, and then slaughtered through ugliness. We the people, so dirty on the inside. Dress it up the best Read more

  • The Sounds That Carry in the Breeze

    Ink across the eyes haunting like a lover from the past. Lost places and faces grabbing my feet as I sleep. Lies woven into the very fabric of what I am. A series of images repeating like a stuck reel of film in an abandoned cinema. It rains and smoke curls around my hands as Read more

  • The Bridge

    The flesh contains. It restrains us from becoming something more. Like the stars in the sky, we are infinite without even trying. Bones as prisons. The key to our demise. Shackled to self-doubt, the only thing that matters is to keep childhood madness alive. The adult world a deadened mess of machinery. Too many cogs. Read more

  • Clair de Lune

    Speech therapy for lizards. The cold bloodied made warm using symbols of lethargy and sex. Open wide to catch a lullaby or two. Torn pages scattered down the road. Faded ink of words stained with the meaning of love. The look of want. The need to be in someone’s arms. Blown apart like landmines we Read more

  • Tell Me What You See Inside

      When you tear away from what you don’t need, let me know what you see inside. Picking scabs just won’t do. Peel back all of your flesh and let me in. Let me catch a glimpse of the secrets you keep so well hidden. Eclipsed by misery no longer, give me a chance to Read more

  • Be What You Want

    Life is a series of accidents. Some good, some bad. The stuff we plan is usually boring. Things to pass the time of day. Things to occupy ourselves, to take our minds off more meaningful subjects. Y’know, love and death. The heavy shit. Everything I’ve ever planned has been half-hearted. Nothing has ever interested me Read more