Sex
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Beer cans as gods. Empty beer cans as dead gods. Beer shits as the gift that just keeps on giving. In the throes of fucking you resemble the violent birth of the universe, and then when your belly’s full of seed, you resemble its slow and inevitable death. You just fade away into outer… Read more
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Send nudes. Send honey. Write me your dirtiest poetry and post it in an envelope sealed with your wettest kisses. Send lockets of your hair that I may sniff and chew before falling asleep listening to the rain blowing against the window. Send me an ounce or two of your soul in an old Sainsbury’s… Read more
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In this video, I discuss my reaction to it being four years since the inception of my blog, myredabyss.com There’s talk about the highs and lows of my writing over those four years, the publication of two volumes A Journal for Damned Lovers, and what the third volume will be like. I also… Read more
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The skin around my fingers is bleeding. Cuticles. That’s the right word, yeah? So yeah, my cuticles are bleeding so I suck and lick them like sweets. Like shiny red lollipops. Or your nipples. Yeah, your nipples. I know, I know, such perversity within the first few sentences, but it can’t be helped. I’m… Read more
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Drinking songs and ladybirds and the way you eye yourself up in the mirror not knowing whether you’ve still got it. And this it, is it wanting to know if guys still wanna fuck you, or is it about needing to be the source of their obsessions as well? What eats away even more… Read more
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In fresh snow, you plant your can of beer while I light a smoke talking about my favourite serial killers. It’s far too late, and we should be in bed, but not together, unfortunately, even though my eye for detail concerning the crimes of Jeffrey Dahmer impresses you for sure. The acid in my belly… Read more
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the world turns and stars burn bodies pulsate and ooze sex then fade away like pretty much everything else there’s anger and rebellion a spark that ignites lives ignites minds and then comes safety and vulgar vulgar respectability where people speak but say nothing doing stuff but it’s just stuff and it holds… Read more
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Back to the beginning. To those olden days. To those cosmic rays and the shine of your strange teeth as you drunkenly walk unfamiliar streets trying to remember your way home. Such streets recall a younger version of yourself even if that version no longer exists, yet somehow it still does, somewhere, out there,… Read more
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There’s an image of me from a day now almost lost. A few years ago, it was. I’m about to leave the house and head down to the shops at the bottom of the road. I can feel myself on the verge of a panic attack but try and block it out. Try and… Read more
Author S. K. Nicholas 