Author S. K. Nicholas

x and i: a novel

a journal for damned lovers vol 1-3

Escape

  • This Is An Exit

      Nailing my hands to the cross, my mouth is turned upside down. The way the candle burns as she yearns for my touch; for the way my fingers explore her neurosis. Shoveling ashes, my days are spent hunting witches. They eat children. They float and suck on tender flesh. Oh, but these witches are Read more

  • Crave It, Always

      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

  • Don’t Wanna Wake Up Next To Your Stretched Skin

    waking up next to your stretched skin my eyes hurt from the dirty sunlight that pours in through the window head cracked like an egg mouth dry with shame, suffocating so heavy, so dead this is what i wanted this is what i get cheapness, drowning in empty acts that attack the very heart of Read more

  • Curled Up Like A Tiny Animal

    Walking through the woods on my birthday, and it’s pissing down with rain. I’m drenched. My cigarette goes out. Stood sheltering beneath a tree, a fox runs out from a bush. It looks at me, stops, then runs back. I’m tired, and there’s nothing to do. I don’t want to do anything though. Except write, Read more

  • Doubt

    Do it like you mean it. Stand up like a nail, and never falter through doubt. Doubt kills like a cancer. To doubt, is to cut ones wrists. It’s to drown in the murky seas, waving like a lunatic as you desperately sink beneath the surface. If you feel it, don’t doubt it. Go ahead Read more

  • Starless

    my soul is a thousand years old landfill, buried junk i’m the loneliest man in a city that never dreams isolated, like the moon older, colder than i dare admit born from an ancient collision a secret, lost in time haunted by the ghosts of all those that have gone before my blood bubbles with Read more

  • The Quarry

    Read more

  • Black hole sun

    The insects are without dreams. They scuttle around without reason. Empty souls and lonely roads the lot of them. The proletarians, the workers. Call them what you will. They live in the gutter. They live without the stars in the sky, for they never look up. The women are condemned to shit out kids and Read more