Author S. K. Nicholas

x and i: a novel

a journal for damned lovers vol 1-3

Memory

  • It’s in Your Style of Beauty

    It’s down all those streets you had long since forgotten. It’s in the trees that called your secret name so many years ago. There’s no reason to fear all that has passed, just take a peek inside, and see what you find. Some buildings remain the same, whilst others have crumbled. Some relics have long Read more

  • Beneath the Skin of History

    In the throes of fucking, we come undone. Pink nipples while eating sushi from the torsos of whores. Veins full of tiny voices. Head-soaked lullabies while King Girl chases the dragon. Blood between her legs, and the way those eyes blink so pretty. So much suffering in an age of imperfection. In the eye of Read more

  • Don’t Be Afraid

    In an orchid of kissing particles, the sun bathes me in its sepia glow, though I’m undeserving of such enlightenment. Digging deeper still, there’s no way out except for down. Faces long since disappeared, the truth is somewhere far away. It calls my name so quietly in the dead of night. It haunts my days Read more

  • Lethargy

    Old buildings and stairwells to the coffee stains on your favourite books. Eyes wide as the road brings us faces and stories that change with every passing hour. Feelings in the pit of our stomachs, washed away to some other place with all those endless bottles of warm beer. The sky is always grey. No Read more

  • Ares

    The place where we break ourselves. The bed on which we fuck until the sun’s swallowed by the hollow moon. London disease. Free way decapitation as I press my hands around your throat whilst gazing into wishful eyes. Solemn lovers. Melancholy sweethearts drunk on ideas and cheap wine. Books eaten instead of food. The dead Read more

  • Soft as Snow

    fallen gloves in the snow with angels overlooking the town below she danced like a cat and as I drank the words burned brighter than flames and brighter than fright we were bored and life was great nothing to fear nothing to doubt only the moments our lips kissed against the world oh how we Read more

  • Lost

    Eyes crystallized with misspent youth. The lull of sleep when living proves too much. Some kind of sun kissed memory. Some kind of lover beneath bridges between past and future faith. Cold October evenings. Fresh paint in childhood bedrooms. Spider on the wall as a red lampshade sends me to sleep. The scent of peace, Read more

  • Her Body Is The Shape Of My Hands

    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

  • Heat

    Have a beer, a smoke too. Take a piss, and feel like a king. Remember the way she used to give herself to you. No shame, only physicality. Hips of a goddess, and breasts that mirrored the shape of my hands just right. Waking up next to her in the morning, I’d always slip one Read more

  • The Stains Of History

    Not sleeping, nor masturbating. No sex, and no drinking. These are the things I enjoy most. To not do them, makes me very dull. So instead, I run myself a bath and wait for the impending heat to warm my aching bones. Maybe I’ll read some Bukowski, or perhaps listen to a little music. Or Read more