Lustful Thinking.
Portrait of Lust with a Paintbrush in one hand
Experimental drabble in the clash of surrealism with the real.
Today he wears faded jeans with a tight black shirt. Yesterday he wore his favorite ripped jeans and a navy jacket with patches over a camouflage green shirt. We do not know what he would wear tomorrow though, but all we know is that he dresses well for a messy boy. A faint candy-like smell radiates from him as he passes by. No one really knows what cologne he uses, but it is something no other man would smell like. People think it could be from all the candy he keeps in pockets.
But we could think he carries mints to take away some certain flavors from his mouth.
The cross around his neck is ambiguous in meaning. If you’d try to figure it out, you’d never find the real reason for it. But, in a sense you could say he likes death. The cross, the tool of execution, could be the electric chair or the lethal injection. See? He carries death around his neck and he likes it very much. He always wears it to school.
He spends his time in the dirty stalls behind the gym. We know there are holes drilled there for a certain organ to slip through to the other cubicle. And we know the other hole the organ slips into. Front or back he asks, and he guides the dirty thing to the chosen entrance and he would moan as he took it. We saw him in class once, hiding a wince as he sat down.
He didn’t eat a mint from his pocket that day.
Messily: that is how he wears his hair. But any way he does this, he always looks attractive. People did say it was the way he smiled, but, how would we know when he rarely smiles at all. They call him an artist and therefore a beholder of aesthetics. But, what would you call those aesthetics when he paints a portrait of a man with a Frankenstein head (when his innards had been replaced with those of a dog’s)? The mind he possesses must be one of questionable thought.
And those hands he paints with smell like mints.
There are paint splatters upon his shirt. As they dry, they shine under bare light from the bulbs in the ceiling. His eyes are wide as he looks at these bulbs and sees a vision in place of reality. His eyes close as he takes a cock into his mouth and suckles on its bitterness to be replaced with the taste of the mints in his pocket. And, we wonder what the taste of those visions he drinks with wide eyes is? What is the taste of his mind bursting into artistic orgasm as his paintbrush is tainted with dripping pasty white paint?
Simple: they taste like mints.
***A mint for your thoughts.
Experimental drabble in the clash of surrealism with the real.
Today he wears faded jeans with a tight black shirt. Yesterday he wore his favorite ripped jeans and a navy jacket with patches over a camouflage green shirt. We do not know what he would wear tomorrow though, but all we know is that he dresses well for a messy boy. A faint candy-like smell radiates from him as he passes by. No one really knows what cologne he uses, but it is something no other man would smell like. People think it could be from all the candy he keeps in pockets.
But we could think he carries mints to take away some certain flavors from his mouth.
The cross around his neck is ambiguous in meaning. If you’d try to figure it out, you’d never find the real reason for it. But, in a sense you could say he likes death. The cross, the tool of execution, could be the electric chair or the lethal injection. See? He carries death around his neck and he likes it very much. He always wears it to school.
He spends his time in the dirty stalls behind the gym. We know there are holes drilled there for a certain organ to slip through to the other cubicle. And we know the other hole the organ slips into. Front or back he asks, and he guides the dirty thing to the chosen entrance and he would moan as he took it. We saw him in class once, hiding a wince as he sat down.
He didn’t eat a mint from his pocket that day.
Messily: that is how he wears his hair. But any way he does this, he always looks attractive. People did say it was the way he smiled, but, how would we know when he rarely smiles at all. They call him an artist and therefore a beholder of aesthetics. But, what would you call those aesthetics when he paints a portrait of a man with a Frankenstein head (when his innards had been replaced with those of a dog’s)? The mind he possesses must be one of questionable thought.
And those hands he paints with smell like mints.
There are paint splatters upon his shirt. As they dry, they shine under bare light from the bulbs in the ceiling. His eyes are wide as he looks at these bulbs and sees a vision in place of reality. His eyes close as he takes a cock into his mouth and suckles on its bitterness to be replaced with the taste of the mints in his pocket. And, we wonder what the taste of those visions he drinks with wide eyes is? What is the taste of his mind bursting into artistic orgasm as his paintbrush is tainted with dripping pasty white paint?
Simple: they taste like mints.
***A mint for your thoughts.