Author S. K. Nicholas

x and i: a novel

a journal for damned lovers vol 1-3

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  • Magnolia

    My cock is deadweight. Pendulum swaying, this penchant for abstract features is disarming. It twists and it turns. Cancer man in bed with the lights turned out bright. Cracked tooth and sleeping dogs. Pigs on the wind. Seduce and destroy. The universal animals of delinquency. I write it down and I mark it up. Broken… Read more

  • March Of The Flies

    Half truths and inner guts. Unassuming emptiness. The consequence of fantasy. The banality of evil. We thrill at will. We lay down the rules and watch them disappear with ease. No boundaries only frenzy. Changing faces. Masks. All surface no feeling. Suicide helpline. The soil of my mind. No other way to resolve these problems.… Read more

  • Dead Lovers And Aspirin

    My condition is worsened by a lack of touch and aggravated by excess sound. Everything should be minimal. Colours mute. Objects smooth. My seed is resolute. It trickles and sinks. It blows and hits just where it should. It flows through the air at the speed of dreams. Such a violent fluid. Such a tricky… Read more

  • Totem Poles And Howl’d Howls

    This is not a concept. This frequency is non-operational. Besieged by storms and wild tigers. Defunct machinery, growling as your hands search for the key in the ignition. If we try, we can eat them alive. Wires around your wrists. Rope attached to the back of your car. Drag the lake and find what remains… Read more

  • War

    She takes photographs of dead people. She captures herself even though she has no image. Eating barbiturates keeps her face from sinking. American dead. London vampires feeding all through the night. Pouting little piggies, wrapped in cashmere with nowhere to look but down. Gaze at beauty and reduce it to a mere object. Worship the damned… Read more

  • On The Brink

    the ghosts of stars in his arms face to face with extinction the more he sees the less he knows no longer a pillar of creation now lost in the comatorium endless cycles behind closed eyes stretched atoms and repeated patterns everything ravaged everything burned missing pieces in the figure 8 turned inside out dark… Read more

  • Step Into The Sun

    Larks tongue in silhouette. Smouldering looks as the moon hangs high above. Tip toe through willow trees. Man as monster. As imposter. In the valley of dolls the weak will cling with empty devotion. They’ll melt in the face of infinity. She sings in cycles of seven. She sleeps with clouds so soft and unspoken.… Read more

  • River Man

    Buildings around her throat. Tunnels drowned with perfumed leaves. Biscuit tins. Cars on the freeway moving like fireflies in the distance. Cracked ice. Dreams dispersing with the coming of day. Sunlight on stubble. Rain on windows. Sliding down then vanishing as if they never existed at all. English countryside. Bus journeys through forests. Fresh morning… Read more

  • The Shape Of The Night

    Slipping beneath the crawl space, we play the infinity game. Dead zones and crumpled chests. The downward spiral beginning at the foot of your bed. Collecting sunflower seeds, the roots of our faith are planted with utmost sincerity. Joking aside, there’s no saving the damned until they glimpse themselves without restraint. All internal. Fantasy in… Read more

  • Passing Feelings

    Torn chunks of flesh. Passing feelings like stars dying out of sight. Stood in a field with no one else around, we’re lonely like the trees. The horrors of moonlight. Pig children screaming for milk in distant malnourished spheres. Empty factories. Absent faces down memory lane. Wrapped in a state of mind. No words. Only… Read more