Dreamcatcher-S.K. Nicholas/A Journal for Damned Lovers

S.K. Nicholas/A Journal for Damned Lovers taking me back in my memory to somewhere deep and primal.

S. K. Nicholas


Segments of satsumas in your hand and bodies blinking in and out of existence in some club in some town on the outskirts of nowhere. There’s flesh that stinks and sticks at the back of your throat, and there’s a burning sensation in your stomach that feels orange and red with every shot of whatever you knock back. The flames tickle and pinch, and although it’s unpleasant, you do nothing to alleviate your distress, because you’re drunk and tomorrow will never come, and that’s all you desire. Until tomorrow predictably appears, that is, and you end up spending the day in bed wishing you were dead while attempting to touch yourself even though you so desperately need the aspirin which is somewhere downstairs. But downstairs is too far away, so you stay put and suffer like the artist you are. There’s a memory of a girl who was maybe a…

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