Photography
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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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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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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
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This was taken on my birthday. I am thirty. Old and young at the same time. Full of dreams, and haunted by ghosts. I’m lazy. I’m an underachiever. I’m bored. I’m full of secrets. Never grow up. Never act your age. Do what you want. Always. Read more
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I’ve only been working on the novel a few days, but already I’m possessed. The energy and passion are back with me like they were all those years ago. All doubt is removed. No, not just removed, but obliterated. I feel as though I can walk through walls, as if the boundaries that were once Read more
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That skull outside is looking at me with a grin on its bony face. Sat perched on the edge of a step in the garden, it silently mocks me as a dog barks somewhere in the distance. Above it, the crescent moon is faintly visible in the blue sky. It calls to me, Read more
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Ink across the eyes, moving invisibly like ghosts. Woken by a car alarm, dreams of a sexual nature shattered making me bury my head beneath a pillow in despair. It was a good dream as well. So much flesh and desire. So much warmth, only to be lost so cruelly in an instant. Sunshine shining Read more
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Nothing of any meaning comes from complacency. That’s what I told myself whilst walking around the quarry this afternoon. Just after this photo was taken, it started to piss down. So, taking refuge beneath some trees, I sat and smoked a cigarette. No art of merit is born without pain, I said. There needs Read more
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sophie says i’m sick when i tell her i want to see what she looks like inside sophie says i’m sick when i part her hair and caress her breasts so pert beneath a floral dress sophie says i’m sick when my nicotine stained fingers pinch her nipples until the tears well in her pretty Read more
Author S. K. Nicholas 