Nichrysalis

I'm a little typo short and asdf

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Literature

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Been Gone Doubting by Nichrysalis, literature

Literature

Been Gone Doubting

I've been gone doubting myself, a pullover hoodie male conversing the palaver between cranky cadavers, a cadence between dance partners. "I'm asexual. But I don't know." Between sex partners, the rhythm of guilty feet is in their legwork;guilt is the degeneration of poetry into sex, and the reluctance to acknowledge the penetration, penetration, more penetration of the opposite sexwith a doubt I've been gone avoiding.I've been gone doubting myself and discounting sexual endeavors as encounters between dancers.Instead, I'll go finding.

Dead Friend by Nichrysalis, literature

Literature

Dead Friend

I fell asleep with both eyes open under a cloth of slothful calm after I stripped out of my own skin. I sought asylum with salmon in slalom of grizzlies' grip. I am a volcanic yawn short of insomnal salaam.When I preyed on neighborly original sin in networked whorls of grey neural lobes, I fell asleep with both eyes open to dreams mirrored on spinal columns and woke to the chorus of a ringtone hymn. Fighting silence with salmon in slalom,I cradled the phone like a totem, hid it like a corpse under a cushion serially stripped of its own skin. The phone call was from a mom infantizing a son; to countertop...

Salat by Nichrysalis, literature

Literature

Salat

She rotates gracefully.Today, she practices prayer behind the pillars near the stairwell of the student commons. Yesterday she could be seen in A building by the rec room quiet and alone; content. Monday I saw her situated near C building, where I assume she has been studying art.She rotates. She rotates because it is salat; Muslim prayer. When she prays her hijab falls over her face in small folds, silent folds, worrying folds.I’ve never seen her hair do the same.But I push my bangs out of my eyesight, cursing their constant presence and yet adapt to my poorly-cut lengthy male strands and pilgrim on by the makeshift masjid in the student ...

Things I Would Tell Her by Nichrysalis, literature

Literature

Things I Would Tell Her

I want to tell her the things I'll tell her when she’s older, but the information terrifies her.In order of importance: she has luna moths in her head, monarch butterflies in her stomach, and a feral fetus in her womb.Her hands are collapse-clasped and folded in her lap; she holds her elbows like wings away from her ribs, ready to flap, to flutter, to fly.I want to tell her to keep one hand in her purse so she can always find her keys, to keep an eye on the door and the door always open so she can run if she doesn't feel safe, but her cheeks are rorschach-splotch red and the tension in her shoulders warns me she's not ready to hear this.An...

Line Breaking by Nichrysalis, literature

Literature

Line Breaking

Sunday woke me Bradbury-brained with adjectives inadvertently adverbs; with polyester shirt-sleeve ligatures asphyxiating my ligaments; with lispful tongue stung by canines crowning taste buds; with saliva-bled sheets from a jawline jib that was steeled against a seizure.I am the limp weight of a postictal torso; a bowsprit and figurehead splint split from the sleep numbers of bed bums: zero, zip, zilch—Prada prodded to worn cottonwear and Kashmir tarps shading rickshawsare my skin: an exotic, now creased, fabric.Uttered in cadaver kada fashion, a kiai! to someone’s are you okay? I halt in haikuand seize in line breaks.

Ghost in the Machine by Nichrysalis, literature

Literature

Ghost in the Machine

There were days Melissa measured her happiness in brightness, when she would hold her hands over her eyes and the cracks of sunlight, like old paint on drywall, would shine through to let her know exactly who it was that held her. Who is it? And at that moment of recognition Melissa felt…...she felt okay.More than photons reflecting off of totem shells,humanity is conch-cradled in her dusk where light perception is limited to the moon, where blind is a swear word and an oath dependent on a circadian arcade: she is blind and going blinder.Lingering, she allows herself a curfew to blow out the lantern and sing without color for the first tim...

Faustian Sonnet I by Nichrysalis, literature

Literature

Faustian Sonnet I

Damned to Chicago from Orleans’ talkin’, there is hell to be praised for: tooth and nail. Guilt says that I have no other option, for the soot heels of a hellhound on my trail. Can’t call a tale my own; it takes two cents for heaven to be braced for: truth and bail. Death can’t bury itself; it takes two hands to dig into graves hellbound for the rails. Guilt says that I have no other option, death can’t bury itself; it takes two hands damned to Chicago from Orleans’ talkin. Can’t call a tale my own, it takes two scents for the soot heels of a hellhound on my trail to dig into graves, hellbound for the rails.

Conquests by Nichrysalis, literature

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I Mean to Get You Alone by amy-derfer, literature

Literature

I Mean to Get You Alone

You have sharp pulse-elevating teeth the stuff I imagine heart attacks are made ofI'm bent on selling you a handful of smiles specifically crafted to distract you from the fact that I have almost nothing to sayand now you're steering this conversation in a direction that suggests you'veforgotten that I don't watch movies or do much of anything but work which maybeexplains why one glass of wine gets me wrapped around you car to streetlight crash style mangled limbs breeding curious onlookers and my insurance has expiredyou're leaning in and all I can think is I don't have insurance

Heavy Mourning by betwixtthepages, literature

Literature

Heavy Mourning

In the absence of you, my therapist asks how I'm coping. I cop a line about finding healing in art, lie about how honest I am about how much this hurts, tell a tall tale about keeping busy when really, these walls stopped talking the day you died and I stopped finding anything but safety in my sorrow net. Happiness is fleeting-- a dream you appear in, your voice saved in my phone, the last gasp of a scent that takes me, however briefly, home. In the absence of you, silence is heaven and hell-- a friend to embrace, an enemy to defeat, an abyss I can't drown in. My therapist asks how I'm coping and all I can think is how dishones...

Chicago, Summer 2020 by anapests-and-ink, literature

I loved it, it wasn't mine by Synesthi, literature

Literature

I loved it, it wasn't mine

When it happened, when he went to kiss a mouth that didn't want to be kissed, dug nails into skin that boiled under his sweaty, demanding fingertips-- there was a sacred two-or-so weeks when I could have all the screaming I wanted. But my throat was raw and my tongue was bit and I bruised black-blue, heavy fingerprints and nail streaks down pale skin. Some were mine and some were his, defensive wound against offensive memory, but the nerve receptors saw no different, it's all the same when it's sensation, sore and scarred, rough and raw to the touch. And it turns out sometimes you're not ready to scream, I wasn't ready to but god I grew into it, like broken eggshells scattered among pecking, greedy chicks, I grew into a voice. But too late then, the school was made of brick and New-England polish and I didn't have long enough nails to claw past the veneer so I bit down on bitten-down tongue and I swallowed. Swallow, swallow, regurgitate - pieces of a story I didn't write

record store by Anthony-Ryan, literature

Sarracenia by PelicanDeath, literature

Literature

Sarracenia

1. you roll the window down just enough to let the smell of cows and wet grass into the caryou're holding a cigarette the tip burns a bright death and you flick the ash into the windyou turn to my stepfather and say something the two of you laugh togetheri ask a questionyou turn your head and look at mebehind you the sun raises a heavy hand2. my sister is sitting next to mesomehow the bath water is still warm somehowwe are both very quietthere is shouting in another room sometimes i hear your voicei don't look at my sisterher shadow moves gently with the line of the waterour hearts two hearts knowing it's better to pretend

new city by Anthony-Ryan, literature

Literature

new city

one day cutting vegetablesthe blade slipped & my hand split open,spilling itself onto the cutting board.I pushed the vegetables clear with the knifeto let the blood move where it wanted.I watched it happen from a place inside methat opens & closes its eyes with the calm of flower petals.if I did nothing, or opened the wound a little moreI could see where all that blood might lead -like knowing a certain road, if taken far enough,would take me to a whole new city.instead I wiped the blood off the board into the sink& wrapped my hand. I laid down &left what would have been my next meal unprepared.

good men, bad women by MindlessThinker, literature

Literature

good men, bad women

he was a good man, you say a good man a good dead man like all good men who did ill to the living who speak ill of the deadbut you tell us to speak no evil you tell us, speak only of good men speak of good men and speak of the devil and wonder why he never appearshe was a good man, you say but i don’t want to hear you talk i want you to go home to your mother go home and cover your head go home and pray to your god tell him what a good man you areget down on your knees speak of the devil and see where it gets you

Poetry - Bitlets

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Bitlets 532 by Nichrysalis, literature

Bitlets 531 by Nichrysalis, literature

Bitlets 530 by Nichrysalis, literature

Bitlets 529 by Nichrysalis, literature

Bitlets 528 by Nichrysalis, literature

Bitlets 527 by Nichrysalis, literature

Bitlets 526 by Nichrysalis, literature

Bitlets 525 by Nichrysalis, literature

Bitlets 524 by Nichrysalis, literature

Bitlets 523 by Nichrysalis, literature

About Nichrysalis

Artist // Hobbyist // Literature

Apr 17
United States
Deviant for 18 years
He / Him

Badges

+17

My Bio

Artist's Statement 10/25/2011 (revised 10/14/2025)

Nic Roquel is a voracious and outspoken writer whose concepts and syntax require a rush of blood and breath to the lungs.

Nic is self-taught and self-aggrandizing in the ways of writing and in doing so has created a style all his own. His medium is mainly through poetry, dabbling in the experimental and euphonic; he excels in portraying his thoughts and ideas in a world of complex and harmonious verbiage. He is always whittling away at several works of writing at any given time.

Nic lives in Colorado. He likes indie rock and rap. He has seen Arcane in full 15 times. He has chromesthesia, a form of sound to color synesthesia and believes the song Echoes by Pink Floyd is green and silver.

"The world is only as old as the person to whom you speak."

Favourite Visual Artist

The Hejz - Peter Jawarowski

Favourite Movies

The Dark Knight, District 9, Moon, Inception, 2001: A Space Odyssey

Favourite TV Shows

It's Always Sunny in Philadelphia, South Park

Favourite Bands / Musical Artists

Pink Floyd, Aesop Rock, No Bird Sing, Sage Francis, Led Zeppelin

Favourite Books

The Illustrated Man, Fahrenheit 451, The Metamorphosis, The Great Gatsby

Favourite Writers

Ray Bradbury, Franz Kafka, Paul Muldoon

Favourite Games

Halo 4, Gears of War 3, Minecraft, Terraria, Cookie Clicker

Favourite Gaming Platform

Xbox 360

Tools of the Trade

Photoshop and Illustrator CS6, Cinema 4D 10, Font Creator 5, and Apophysis, Hexels

Other Interests

Writing, Graphic Design, Origami, Photography, Darkroom Art, Music Production and Guitar

Posts

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Nichrysalis

Oct 14, 2025

Well... hi.

0 min read

I haven't been here in ages. I still write, but I kind of became a recluse who has endless poems just written and stored on my server. Decided to dust off this website and see what was here. Or if there's anyone left.

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Nichrysalis

May 13, 2020

Which frozen dessert to you prefer the most?

15 votes

Ice cream

Gelato

Sorbet

Sherbert

Granita (italian ice)

Frozen custard

Frozen yogurt

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Nichrysalis

Apr 10, 2020

Coronavirus Creativity

0 min read

Hey guys, it's been a while. I never stopped lurking around here, but I did stop posting. I kept writing and creating but a lot of my creative energies have gone to projects that either don't work well here (the past two years I've spent learning music theory, guitar, and rapping/singing quite intensely). Any other energy I wasn't spending on my album I had was spent on work, learning programming because I want to switch to that career field, my fiancee and our wedding, and writing bitlets. Guys, I have over 600 bitlets. What do I do with all of these micropoems? Granted, a lot of them have gone on to be full-fledged works of literature.Bu...

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Profile Comments 3.6K

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N3ffShark

Dec 9, 2024

You still around here, dude? I miss talking to you.

SilverInkblot

Jul 11, 2023

How we feelin bout the new RvB trailer

:heart:

I’ve missed you!

Feel free to pm me here if you want to chat again. I'm also on snapchat under same name. Been trying to penpal with @@SilverInkblot but I've been so busy!

VSConcepts

Apr 17, 2020

Happy Birthday!!!