《muses》i. sunrise

Advertisement

Have you ever seen a picture of yourself? The question drills my mind like your hands that grip at my body, treating me like an object with no thought to make eye contact with me. I don't mind, I like the coldness of your hard-padded fingers against my bare skin. Though, that isn't what cut opens my mind like a questionably professional surgeon that's holding their knife against my scalp, holding me to life and death with the idea of one not seeing themselves. It's sick, twisted and undeniably morbid for me to think that you haven't drawn out the anatomy of yourself but I cannot itch it out; it's too close to the truth since you look like you've never cared for yourself, only the creations you make which is more selfless than God who's selfish, needy for people's attention like a dog who's left to wait for their owner or you, begging for this dreadful session to end as you study each muscle of my composition.

Oh, don't worry, I won't hold you hostage like Bokuto does with me in bed; burning me with red wax, chuckling with his warm breath against my skin as he places kisses upon me, using my body and his body as gateways to our most unholy Heaven─with consent, of course. I wouldn't want to grip upon the flesh of an innocent but for some reason, I want to grip a brush and show your virgin eyes of how you look─the shape of your nose, lips and whole figure. You would like that, or so I hope because my tongue softly twists to bring up such portraits, "Y'know, you would look nice in my next portrait."

That doesn't flatter you, it doesn't make you feel anything because all you did was walk back to your stationary, looking at your molds with only a few words leaving your lips, "I'm a artist, not a muse or fruit basket."─your voice is calm, smooth as my honey dreams but so rudely bitter, leaving such an addictive but rotten riddle upon my glacé tongue. Oh sweetie! Don't you know I can paint you like the French, dress you up like you're a fifties' singer: or dress you down, let the wind slap your skin and if you don't like that, I can make you connect with nature, plant you in the soil like the seed that drips out my model from nights of in-dorm smoking weed.

Advertisement

"Still, it's nice to have a memoir of yourself", I say with intention. Can you feel my words creep your skin? Shatter it with simple shards of glass, time it with a broken clock and bruise it with the staining wine of crushed berries. I think you do. Your faces becomes more dull, glancing up at me as you begin your project of looking down at my figure, clearly filled with rushing thoughts like Texas with their ravenous storms of Grim Reaper's death that's bound to spill upon the whole world like a nasty pandemic, targeting the young and old with it's slimy hands; "Yes, I suppose but besides that, what's your style of art?"

"I do abstract art as my main course, I do nude personification in my personal works," I answer with no hesitation, just planets on my eye-lids by how low they lay as I see you stop for a split-second, caught off guard by my most revealing words which is expected because who would've known that the quiet but popular kid is into such scandalous words, imploring the beauty of nakedness in his artworks; it's almost like a porn-star director telling a politician their job as someone who films such nastiness, but with art. I am not ashamed and you seem not to judge, you even tell me your very thoughts as I see your hands play on the surface, "Cool, didn't take you for the type to be into such things but isn't it weird painting naked people?"

"At first, yes but now, it's fun", I lightly laugh with lure between my teeth, slowly gripping you into my most messiest request, unfitting for someone who's been taught with such well manners of how to treat strangers─Mama would be disappointed.

"Speaking of which, have you ever thought of being painted?", I click my tongue against the roof my mouth before continuing, "but, it does come with some rules─that's if you want to be painted by me, you don't have to answer now."

I say that but I want to rush you, tell me you're begging to be painted on my canvas with silk draping your half-naked body. Come on, I'll give you your wildest uncovered dreams that have been veiled by your ignorance for far too long.

    people are reading<muses>
      Close message
      Advertisement
      Next Chap
      You may like
      You can access <East Tale> through any of the following apps you have installed
      5800Coins for Signup,580 Coins daily.
      Update the hottest novels in time! Subscribe to push to read! Accurate recommendation from massive library!
      2 Then Click【Add To Home Screen】
      1Click