Dream Lover

I am completely taken by the way this man writes. There is something about the way his words make me feel. Like paper cuts on my self-awareness, or a blemish on the reflection I see in the mirror. One I have to look at for a long time to make sense of it… the complicated parts of me that somehow end up in another’s words. I am a fan, friend. I truly am. And this, is another favorite.

S. K. Nicholas

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Wrapped in blankets marked with cigarette burns, she crawls deformed at the foot of the bed as my hand slides up her laced skirt. Raining hard as my body lacks the energy to do anything but recover, in a field of lepers and dogs and cunts, the nature of my illness is nearby yet unseen. Life has taught me to keep quiet, because the minute my mouth opens, I’m cut to pieces. So instead, I stalk the shadows where the lonely animals go at night. Observing lovers in gas masks parading the sidewalk as if it were a fashion show in Milan, the wounds on her inner thighs are self-inflicted. Nude as a car crash rolls into view on the corner of some other block, she clutches the blade and asks God not to make her do it. He doesn’t reply. As she dreams of a world where love and…

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