S. K. Nicholas


When the birds outside sing their songs and you play around with what you’ve got, the music kicks in and I forget how to speak and how to think. What’s your name? What do you look like? As I drink a few beers and roll a cigarette, you flicker in and out of existence as if it were a mundane act, and as I circle the bed you were sprawled out on only seconds before, all I can do is shake my head and wait for you to reappear. There’s a lamp in the corner of the room that’s a grave for dozens of dead moths. Their dead moth bodies are dry and brittle, and when I go to pick them up, they turn to dust between myfingers. On the table by the window, there’s a photo of you as a girl, of when you were maybe five…

View original post 193 more words

One thought on “Sirens

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s