Sudden Denouement Classic: Gag Reflex- S. K. Nicholas

Triptych personality and a taste for the beaten and crushed. Favoured positions. Preferred imagery including a crushed butterfly placed so sweetly on her navel- the one that swims with my seed. Specks of blood on the bed sheets from our collision- the one I try denying but keeps happening anyway. In lipstick upon the wall, I scrawl my desires in lowercase. I spell out what I mean to say which always seems to escape me when she’s gagging on my fumes. I’m a good guy at heart, but a single droplet puts me in a rage like you wouldn’t believe. Shards of glass and portals. Lonely roads and stories gathering dust, but there will come a day when everything makes sense. There will be a moment when the end is not the end and an exit is not an exit but a door to a river where resides the girl who started it all. I go in and out- I pass through on the off chance she’s around. Lights and nipples and stretch marks. Torn lingerie and tourniquets. Vampires, lovers, killers. A painter, a writer. There exists celluloid imagery of my actions. There are photos of body parts and vials full of hair which fuels the fantasy more and more. There was once a golden light but it was snatched away and now I take from others because my future was taken from me. Souls and slaves. The ties that bind. Scenes missing until she’s wrapped in a blanket because this world doesn’t care and although my hands are cruel I do it because I care and no one cares as much as me. She is mother and enemy. She offers salvation and torment but the more I do it the less I can tell which is which. Flowers pressed in a book. Numbed fingers from two bottles of wine as she shaves her pubic hair at my request. She is not her own woman, she is my girl. The girl by the river who visits me after I pass out in the early hours of the morning halfway up the stairs. She flickers in the eyes of those who get too close. She dances in the mirror and kisses my neck when the right scent ignites what’s left of me. That cherub heart, it’s been gone for years and no matter what I do, and no matter how many times I try bringing her back, it won’t beat again.


S.K. Nicholas is the creator of My Red Abyss.comas well as author of two novels A Journal for Damned Lovers Vol 1, 2 & 3 (available on Amazon). 

Madness-Sarah Doughty/Heartstring Eulogies

I’m more than ordinary madness. I’m not a temporary fix, but I am your devil in disguise. That desire setting you to burn like liquid fire flowing through your veins. Let me make you my paper and write all night with ink on my tongue, inciting those flames to grow. Then you’ll never want anything else.


Sarah Doughty is the wordsmith behind her website, Heartstring Eulogies, author of The Silence Between Moonbeams, her poetry chapbook, and the acclaimed Earthen Witch universe, a collection of novels and novellas, all offered for free (https://thesarahdoughty.wordpress.com/useful-links/). To learn more about Sarah and her books, check out her website (http://thesarahdoughty.wordpress.com/about) and Goodreads (https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/13753138.Sarah_Doughty).

Judas Came to bed-Hannah Wagner/The Hero’s Inferno

At first I was surprised to see him

Each time we met I thought would be the last

Slowly I became attached to his presence

I waited for him like a fiend for their dope

He wasn’t like the history books said

He was more like a great dark wing

Soft and alone

He carried me away

I looked up to see the stars for the very first time

When Judas comes to bed the red rose sets fire to the forests

 

People said we can’t help you now

You are walking hand and hand with the devil

But I have seen the devil, drinking Bulleit

Sucking on figs and taking the skin off the poors back

Rest assured when Judas comes to bed I am closer to god

 

When it Is over he is remorseful

A rain storm comes down to cleanse him

I watch but do not join

Preferring to wallow in our sweat

 

Each night he pulls the drapes back on his heart

I reach to touch the pulsing ruby of my dreams

Just as quick he jerks the curtains back

Like a spooked horse

 

Gone again until the next act

When Judas comes to bed time itself does not exist

When Judas comes to bed we are both two and one

When Judas comes to bed he leaves nothing but an olive branch


Hannah Wagner hails from Salem, Massachusetts. She is an actor, poetess, dreamer, among many other things. She thinks there is a little witch in all of us.   Hannah writes for The Hero’s Inferno

Gag Reflex-Introducing New Sudden Denouement Member S. K. Nicholas

The Sudden Denouement Literary Collective is thrilled to introduce new Collective Member S. K. Nicholas.  S.K. is the gritty lyrical voice behind A Journal for Damned Lovers.


Triptych personality and a taste for the beaten and crushed. Favoured positions. Preferred imagery including a crushed butterfly placed so sweetly on her navel- the one that swims with my seed. Specks of blood on the bed sheets from our collision- the one I try denying but keeps happening anyway. In lipstick upon the wall, I scrawl my desires in lowercase. I spell out what I mean to say which always seems to escape me when she’s gagging on my fumes. I’m a good guy at heart, but a single droplet puts me in a rage like you wouldn’t believe. Shards of glass and portals. Lonely roads and stories gathering dust, but there will come a day when everything makes sense. There will be a moment when the end is not the end and an exit is not an exit but a door to a river where resides the girl who started it all. I go in and out- I pass through on the off chance she’s around. Lights and nipples and stretch marks. Torn lingerie and tourniquets. Vampires, lovers, killers. A painter, a writer. There exists celluloid imagery of my actions. There are photos of body parts and vials full of hair which fuels the fantasy more and more. There was once a golden light but it was snatched away and now I take from others because my future was taken from me. Souls and slaves. The ties that bind. Scenes missing until she’s wrapped in a blanket because this world doesn’t care and although my hands are cruel I do it because I care and no one cares as much as me. She is mother and enemy. She offers salvation and torment but the more I do it the less I can tell which is which. Flowers pressed in a book. Numbed fingers from two bottles of wine as she shaves her pubic hair at my request. She is not her own woman, she is my girl. The girl by the river who visits me after I pass out in the early hours of the morning halfway up the stairs. She flickers in the eyes of those who get too close. She dances in the mirror and kisses my neck when the right scent ignites what’s left of me. That cherub heart, it’s been gone for years and no matter what I do, and no matter how many times I try bringing her back, it won’t beat again.


S. K. Nicholas is blogger at myredabyss.com and author of A Journal for Damned Lovers.  To learn more about S.K. and A Journal for Damned Lovers read Jasper Kerkau’s interview with S.K. and his review of A Journal for Damned Lovers.