Journal
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I owe it to the dreams that always bring me around. Such madness so glorious and terrible. Faith in drunken kisses as the ocean creeps to our naked feet. Play the piano and dance with the trees. Embrace the lonely hours like they never even existed. I’m not the same, yet I’m exactly how Read more
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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
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They go wild like a clock that never speaks. They cry at the moon when the words always fail. Pioneers of something wonderful and mute. Show me the way to all things resolute. Obey me. Praise my hollow bones on a dirt pile made of patience and joy. So many pretty faces. So much lipstick. Read more
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Inescapable like fate. Immovable like a mountain. Climbing a church spire and smoking until it hurts your lungs. So much vision and wonder. So many places never to be known. All those lowly insects. All that passion in the back seats of a million burnt out cars. Damned by the touch of all those you’ll Read more
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he worshipped bacteria instead of lovers drove an old Pontiac whilst drowning himself in miracle sauce words made him now they fail him suicide journalist as he puts one in the chamber dying like the future succumbing like everything else Read more
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The sense of numbness that comes with the leaving behind of childhood. Morning makes way for afternoon blues. Head ravaged by snot and despaired dreams, the horrors of my soul can be found in the bathroom toilet. Cigarette smoke unleashing the hell of what I am, there’s no joy to be found in the opening Read more
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something in the way a brokenness so numb forever mocking like an enemy the days go on they frustrate only letting go when sleep comes calling it’s a damned journey but the only way out is through Read more
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Time flies like a broken arrow. Magpies pecking for secrets in the soil, my story crawls lonely in the shade. It hides beneath her pretty little dress. Sun dyed hair blowing in the wind, there’s just no telling where my mind will drift to today. Each layer of what we call living exhumed, there’s no Read more
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Hands upon the canvas. Hands on her breasts. Cigarettes in the gutter like seasons spent in hell. Six sheets to the wind. Coffee in the pot like mental illness shifting through petrified trees. Closed-mouthed nothings across the table in a war-torn cafe. Boredom in approach. Aching formalities when the removal of clothes is all Read more
Author S. K. Nicholas 