Book
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they write books that say nothing they paint pictures to sell on biscuit tins and rugs all these artists with no voices no ideas worth repeating at all if you’re going to speak speak the truth even if it means derison and abandonment who wants to be part of their useless generation anyway? Read more
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That skull outside is looking at me with a grin on its bony face. Sat perched on the edge of a step in the garden, it silently mocks me as a dog barks somewhere in the distance. Above it, the crescent moon is faintly visible in the blue sky. It calls to me, Read more
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I started writing my novel five years ago, but truth be told, my heart wasn’t in it for the last three. Whenever I sat down to write, it was the last thing I wanted to do. There was no belief. No passion or desire in what I was doing. And when that happens, you might Read more
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An open door. The sea. Desolate shopping arcades. Smiles as she walks hand in hand, with me. Teeth white like milk, sharp. A lover. A woman. Wind, blowing sand in our faces. A dress she wears, so pretty showing curves so, fine. Hand in hand upon the promenade, the day goes on forever. Love, some Read more
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The evening rolls in. Warm, fresh. Fading blue skies. Work was busy, unfulfilling. The heat brings out women. Short skirts, cleavage on show. So many beautiful women. Sometimes, one will give me a smile. Occasionally, flirting occurs. I imagine what it would be like to fuck them. I see us both naked, going at it Read more
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The people I went to school with are settled down now. Married, kids of their own, the lot. But here I am, single, poor, and clinging to fanciful dreams of being a writer. Age doesn’t mean a thing to me; I couldn’t care less that I’m nearly thirty. The Read more
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The secrets of her womb, motel walls painted vagina red. Oh, how the lovers stroll hand in hand, blind and in love. It’s nothing but a cheapened facade though. For their love is false. Born out of boredom, and swallowed up like hospital food. All those burning wheels, turning on the horizon as we fuck 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
Author S. K. Nicholas 