Author S. K. Nicholas

x and i: a novel

a journal for damned lovers vol 1-3

Sex

  • Surf the Night

      I kissed your throat, yet I still hate myself. There’s no destination I have in mind, not even your bed. Not even the drunken swaying of a man whose bleeding himself empty for the sake of his art. Or maybe it’s a lost lover, forever haunting just out of view. Either way, when I… Read more

  • The Magician

      The colours of love like the beads of sweat that trickle down your thighs. The scent of war in my greasy hands and the taste of wet memories as headlights illuminate worn out figures with nowhere left to go. Writing takes me to an elevated state. Mix it with beer, and you’ve got the… Read more

  • 3:01 am

    The slightest of movements. The flickering of a light as you wake with shortened breath. It’s raining. Early hours. The only soul left in the universe. Silence is all there is, and as you struggle to comprehend your own mortality, you sit drenched in sweat on the edge of the bed. Time slips through your… Read more

  • One More Night

      As I write, I imagine you naked on my bed with an abacus upon your belly. Sliding beads of infinite numbers, you watch me while I pluck illusion from the moonlit sky. Blinded by the dazzling lights of memory and truth, the cigarette drops from the corner of my mouth. Hands around your legs.… Read more

  • Choke

      Some people know nothing. In fact, make that most of them. They know little of love that’s for sure. As for pain, they think they know it, yet what they feel is only the tip of the iceberg. They’ve only scratched the surface, and it’s a long way down to the bottom. It’s at… Read more

  • Glimpses of Images

      Drinking wine, blood trickles from my busted knuckle. The red mist took hold, just for a second, but I lost it nonetheless. A phantom in the throes of fantasy, I was snapped out of my little taste of bliss. Somewhere nearby, I hear the keys of a piano being played so sullenly it eases… Read more

  • Big Nothing

    Listening for sounds of footsteps while nursing a hangover. Crawling to the toilet, and puking not only last night’s alcohol, but stomach bile so shiny and yellow it blinds my tired eyes. Insides obliterated, and head on the verge of coming apart. Existence too much, I sit in the garden and look at the weeds.… Read more

  • Little Bethany

      The sky is blue, sometimes grey. Clouds and rain, passing in due course as sirens cut through the air disturbing my sleep. Closing my eyes, I try to get back to that warm place, but slowly it fades leaving me cold and alone. I was having a dream about Sarah at the time she… Read more

  • Fatalism

      Like Icarus being spat out by the sun, or the arrows of Saint Sebastian protruding from your swollen belly. To devour flesh and wine. To feel the pain of childbirth, and to taste the fear that keeps you in its grip as the midnight hour slowly ticks away. Past block after block of empty buildings,… Read more

  • White-Teethed-Fear

    Found a poem I wrote a few years ago, back when I wasn’t writing: They are celebrity Respectably Socially The epiphany of what we are They taste the sun It turns them on It makes them feel At one with God They think I’m waving Yet I’m drowning No substance here Just white-teethed-fear They think… Read more