Author S. K. Nicholas

x and i: a novel

a journal for damned lovers vol 1-3

Writing

  • The Way She Hushes

    There’s something about her gaze. How she can melt away the barricades of your heart, with just the simplest of smiles. She has you wrapped around her finger, hook, line, and sinker. Being caught was something you wanted. You allowed it to happen because to be her victim was just too pleasurable an offer to turn… Read more

  • This Is An Exit, Back

    This is a way of leaving things behind. Of tasting things that were once real. She’s looking into the future. She’s looking at stars that have been dead for years. There’s all the love in the world, hanging from her neck. All the dreams you could ever muster, floating inside her head. There’s nothing more… Read more

  • We Pull The Stars From The Sky

    With everything silent and still, it’s just me, her, and a handful of ghosts. Laying on my side, there’s something so innocent about her as she sleeps. It’s in the way she curls beneath the blanket, nose twitching, eyes fluttering. It’s in the way she draws towards me, looking for comfort and safety while unknown… Read more

  • More Things I once Wrote

    I wrote this in September 2011 useless human. there’s no need for you, no need at all. jumpers from the twin towers, torn pages from a diary. one look at them tells me that it’s only flesh, no essence, no soul, just tight skin and mammary glands. photos never taken, childhoods lost in the haze… Read more

  • Something I Once Wrote

    I wrote this in September 2011. it’s a golden hue, the night horizon that stretches out forever into darkness. shimmering lights, eyes of wine, eyes of dreams. autumn leaves, the scent of lovers in the chill air. it’ll be christmas soon, another wasted year, closer to death, flesh and bone into sand. my hand aches… Read more

  • Careful With That Axe, Stephen

    I’ve been sleeping all day pretty much. I’m tired, and my bones ache. Even a warm bath can’t seem to heat them up. My hands don’t belong to me, they go against my wishes. My body just won’t move. It’s given up so it seems. In my bed looking out the window, all I can… Read more

  • Self Portrait As Treebeard

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  • A Journal Entry

    My favourite time of the day is just after I’ve finished work and returned home. That bit where I lay down on my bed and listen to birdsong through the open window. Closing my eyes and drifting away but never falling asleep, I think of everything that I’ve ever experienced. People I’ve known, places I’ve… Read more

  • Abstract Daddy

    The hidden depths. The ways of your desire. Perched on the edge of the bed, there is no line between where I end and you begin. Only I never end, not really. I am Abstract Daddy, a dream upon waking that never leaves you. There is no substance to what I am. I’m void of… Read more

  • Dulling Of The Senses

    My mind is a whirlpool of autumn eyes and half-remembered dreams. Dancing within, she torments me without even trying. The beautiful one, the one who’s struck me dumb with love. There are so many words I could use to describe her, but none could ever do her justice. In the future, when we’re floating somewhere… Read more