Author S. K. Nicholas

x and i: a novel

a journal for damned lovers vol 1-3

Love

  • Walk The Plank And Tell Me How It Feels

    Hellacious praisers, redeemed by the fallen one. Scorched by sinking suns, loved by one and all. A tapestry of flies buzz around empty mouths. From crumbling ruins to the shores of heavenly bodies, they foretell the coming of vengeful souls. From the hanging gardens where we were born, the scent of honey carries with voices… Read more

  • The Bridge

    The flesh contains. It restrains us from becoming something more. Like the stars in the sky, we are infinite without even trying. Bones as prisons. The key to our demise. Shackled to self-doubt, the only thing that matters is to keep childhood madness alive. The adult world a deadened mess of machinery. Too many cogs.… Read more

  • 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

  • We All Praise The Great Retractors

    We all praise the great deceivers. We all shine a light on the one and all. Bland little piggies falling by the wayside. No sincerity just comfort when comfort comes calling alone and betrayed. The world disappeared. Nowhere in sight, it fell into the big empty and never recovered. Such boredom when faced with 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

  • Clair de Lune

    Speech therapy for lizards. The cold bloodied made warm using symbols of lethargy and sex. Open wide to catch a lullaby or two. Torn pages scattered down the road. Faded ink of words stained with the meaning of love. The look of want. The need to be in someone’s arms. Blown apart like landmines we… 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

  • 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