Nick St. Lucid:

Nick St. Lucid is a young New Jersey/New York-based writer and spoken word performer. Much of his work focuses on homoerotic fetishism, “gay rage”, and the bleaker side of true/physical love. He is currently working on his first book of poetry/non-fiction/lucid ramblings, Gonzo Filth: Lessons in Unrequited Lust & Transgressive Liberation.

• @_Faggotronics (twitter.com/_faggotronics)
• nickstlucid@gmail.com

Love Letter to a Boy

I keep trying to have hope in you, and you manage to disappoint me each and every time. The funny thing is it’s almost as if I’m disappointed in myself. Disappointed for expecting any kind of tender treatment from you…disappointed for even wanting it. Disappointed because I can’t ever seem to exercise any restraint when it comes to my fantasies. Fantasies that always involve you. As much as I would like to say I would throw away anything and everything to be with you, I know this will never be the case.

Because you will never love me.

So therefore, why should I waste anytime even musing over the idea of loving you?

I wish I could hold your hand. I wish I could stare into your ever-penetrating blue eyes and mutter all my fears, wishes, dreams, failures, and lustful desires into your mouth. I wish it was you, and only you, who would come knocking on my door in the middle of the night. Having showed up to tell me you need me beside you to sleep easy. Lord knows I can’t seem to close my eyes for more than a second without dreaming of you.

But as I stated before this can, and will never, be. And for the record, I do not love you.

I don’t know how I feel about you, because truthfully I’ve never felt this way about anyone before. Yes, yes, I know everyone says things like this when they’re caught up in their emotions, but I mean everything I’m attempting to explain right now. I’ve never felt so ambivalent towards someone who somehow manages to make my heart skip a beat each time they walk into the room. Each and every fucking time!

I suppose this is where things could get dangerous because I am after all emptying my guts out to you, but I have to let you know how I feel.

I have to come to understand these things for myself as well.

Honestly, it is not lust which spurns me to write this letter to you. If you were just some boy I wanted to use for my own carnal pleasure I doubt I would be so conflicted. So morose. So frustrated. So anxious.

But I suppose this is all irrelevant to you anyway, considering the fact that you seem to enjoy tormenting me. Mocking me. Talking down to me. Forever making me feel like I am less of a man.

I’ll be honest though, some sick part of me almost enjoys it. I find your habitual mistreatment something of an aphrodisiac.

But I know that I cannot be bothered to neglect myself through wanting you…so why do I do it? I don’t know.

I’m not sure what it is about you that I find so special, so alluring. What is it that drags me in time and time again? Why do I constantly feel the need to sum up my emotions towards you? As I said before, I do not know. At this point I feel I am simply babbling.

There is so much I wish I could say to you, but quite frankly I do not have the words and to try to come up with a brief and adequate description of what it is exactly that you do to me would bore me to no end.

I simply feel the need to expel that which is threatening to consume me whole.

And that is you

I cannot seem to remove you from the cracks, wrinkles, and crevices of my brain

And each time I try to do so I stop myself because I enjoy you presence there

So how do I find satisfaction?

How can I pour myself into you?

Right now this seems to be the only solution

However, I do hope that one day we can be true friends. Although this seems most unlikely, I feel I need some kind of relief that will keep me from dissolving into a puddle of nervous tics, shakes, and aches each time I am alone with you.

At this point it seems as though my bliss-heavy dreams are going to be the only place where I can fully experience the quenching of my desire.

I want the smell of your skin

And I want the blush on the inside of your thighs

I want everything that you could ever possibly give to anyone

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