Author S. K. Nicholas

x and i: a novel

a journal for damned lovers vol 1-3

Poetry

  • King Of Pain

    king of pain pressed wide inside your lips and hard against your hips choked, blacked, numbed a pretty layer of bullshit spread across a dirty, used whore that stench of lust puked, drained, sickened it reeks of glitter no stars, just starless and just like you so dearly deserve Read more

  • She

    the colour of her smile like blinding truth and wonder something in the way she moves echoing through my tender mind she makes me feel alive that’s just how she is   Read more

  • A Passing Feeling

    don’t let these days escape let them live forever let us cling like tomorrow never comes lovers holding on to what matters most repel ghosts and taste the truth she bleeds take her in your arms and never let her go Read more

  • Marigold

    Shadows flicker on the wall they dance all over her face and mine outside of time we become something more than they’ll ever know daylight fades moonlight bathed and nude we taste love not afraid of tomorrow be still, stay silent be natural that’s just how love is Read more

  • Idiot King

    he’s handy with his fists likes to give her a good hiding when she steps out of line he does it  ’cause he’s weak and she’s beautiful, like all women are giving birth to the wonders of life, all he gives birth to is an absence of meaning without her, there’s nothing of value to… Read more

  • Ecstasy

      wondrous milky bitch she is ready and willing for all i’ve got to give a million dead children shooting over her chest swimming there in pools of lust and lukewarm desire i’ve taken all her secrets stripped her bare and shamed her through the sensation of ecstasy, surging through her veins nothing to hide,… Read more

  • My Beard

    sometimes i get so alone that my beard’s the only thing that keeps me company this scraggly old beard of mine neither here nor there its colour not true too scruffy and unrefined lacking class and style sometimes there’s nothing more i want than to cut the fucker from my face ’cause its sympathy is false… Read more

  • Self Portrait As Writer

        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

  • Dreams Of A Lunatic Artist

      I’ve been working on the novel again for just over a week now. And with every passing day, I feel more and more alive. Every time I sense the doubt creeping back in, I tell myself that I can give it up if I want. That I can look for a cushy 9-5 job… Read more

  • Useless Generation

    they write books that say nothing they paint pictures to sell on biscuit tins and rugs all these artists with no voices no ideas worth repeating at all if you’re going to speak speak the truth even if it means derison and abandonment who wants to be part of their useless generation anyway? Read more