Creative Writing
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The kid next door cleans his car all day long. Over and over again he cleans it, whilst his girlfriend just sits there in despair playing with her phone. I want to take her by the hand, and show her what a real machine looks like. Leave him there shining the wheels, whilst I teach her a… Read more
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A vision of dead desire. Concrete face and limbs, weathered and sullen like a tree. Or a sad welsh chapel. I’m a spider killer, and hater of automobiles. Animals are my friends, as are all the make-believe lovers of the world. Bearded silence and cocooned dreams. Eyes of wine and a stupid… Read more
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sometimes i get so alone that my beard’s the only thing that keeps me company this scraggly old beard of mine neither here nor there its colour not true too scruffy and unrefined lacking class and style sometimes there’s nothing more i want than to cut the fucker from my face ’cause its sympathy is false… Read more
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To sleep without care. Folding hands and lyrical sighs. The taste of saliva. The scent of desire. Fingers and thighs, the spreading of. Leaves falling, dreams that call, and only to her. She’s the sea. The eyes in the back of your mind. Somewhere. She’s mother and whore. Beneath the sheets, she’s everything. For years,… Read more
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all those truths left unuttered and obscure embracing the night alone with our hearts searching out secrets like headlights in the snow we could’ve taken it all be we never had the guts to discover for sure and then we never recovered oh these hours bring me down but as long as the… Read more
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The train tracks of adolescence, cut me in half. They suffocated the boy-child, and turned him into a broken man. But the child lives on, through paintings and words. My body is battered and bruised, but my soul is blue, like endless skies on a summer afternoon. All those sundays, when tomorrow never came. Reach… Read more
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Shapeless, bruised skin. Dejected hearts, burning brightly once more. I want nothing to do with love because love is cheap. It’s second hand, riddled with contradictions and hypocrisy. Love is selfish when it should be selfless. Writing gives me all the affection I need. It gives me intimacy, and it gives me magic. Away from… Read more
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Cute girls. Losers and fuck-ups. All the beautiful people. Boiling together beneath clouds and neon ghosts. My stomach hurts, so I have a beer to make it better. Galaxies, distant and barely visible, held beneath her tongue so natural. All the lonely souls, dreaming together in silence. In a sweet embrace, that no one will… Read more
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Drinking beer in bed. My neck hurts. Could be cancer, but probably not. My balls are empty, wasted on empty lust. The sky grows dark, the moon, nowhere to be seen. My navel visible, my belly thinner than it was before. I’m watching a documentary about the universe. Reminds me that there’s more to life… Read more
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Words as bullets, pumped straight into the guts of all those paled faced doubters. Fistfuls of creation, shoved into the mouths of all those who dare not dream. Am I stacker of shelves for Walmart, or am I a dreamer of fantastic thoughts, running through the streets of Berlin with my bearded face turned… Read more
Author S. K. Nicholas 