graffiti

XXIII.IV.MMXXIII

ABOUT: musings about Shaw of Love and Producer; the '♡' represents personal favourites.

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She drew a heart in his notebook, and a little rockstar too.

He scoffed at the tiny figure, but the next thing he knew, he was smiling. How so very childish she could be. She was so darn cute.

+ MASTERLIST

Neon showered his body. Red and magenta, blue and violet, lime and green.

Muscles glowed with color and a glaze of sweaty film.

They didn't hear the thunder. Only the bass.

They didn't see the man. Only the rockstar.

They saw only the brain, but not the heart.

He was all of those wild delights together, not one thing or the other.

Heart and brain. Sun and rain. Thunder and bass.

+ MASTERLIST

Youth in his kiss. Summer on his lips. Wild freedom upon his tongue. It wove through the blue violet of his hair, the velvet sun. There was the sweet mint of bubblegum. A taste of carefree soul. Silver earrings glinting in pairs, metallic and all.

+ MASTERLIST

Tempest.

The sky was in tempest, and so was the ground. Lightning and whirls shattered the world in half, perfect like thunder and bass.

She may not have been that smart, but she thought she knew.

If he had not wanted her, how had he chosen her? When he had not liked her, how had he spent so much time by her side?

A beloved ghost in her mind, a dear ghost in her mirror.

Time, a lot of time, had passed since she last saw him, looked into those honey eyes and bathed in their urban paradise.

The carefree soul of youth, no matter the hardships he had met, was not a candle, but a bonfire that burned bright.

Sure now, there were moments of doubt and melancholy, times of loneliness and tragedy, but they carved him and colored the flame, so much like a fish's tail is as part of a fish as its fins, as the very core of its heart.

+ MASTERLIST

In the summer sun smeared metal glinted, a lot like familiar silver earrings.

Long fingers wrapped delicate about the empty can. Dim were the amber eyes that looked at the wall, at the graffiti he had just spoilt on that wall.

The world was an idiot nation.

So many stupid people, so many brainless monsters.

Gentle, rough. Calm, wild. Fire, water. Up, down. Sweet, sour.

A strange concoction of opposing flavours, yet those flavours, a lot like the pieces of a scattered mystery, locked into one another perfectly—heavenly in their act, in fact.

Not a just saint, but a rebel too; she wished to be like he was.

He was a rebel, so fearless and confident she imagined that when he put his silver glasses on, the world and its people froze mid-motion—a student's pen would stop at the swirl of the circle above the little 'i' in her notes, children's lips would melt still into the soft cheese of their pizza slices, skateboarders would hang curled, upside down in the summer air.

And all of them would be painted, glowing vivid and bright, in 2000s colors, pretty and alive.

+ MASTERLIST

Rock music painted the 90s, its electric guitars on overdrive, its bass resounding; it colored his little world with loud energy and cool melodies.

Soon, the world that was founded on artifacts of a mystic past blared with colors of graffiti, neon of stages, blur of videos.

A cheeky child, he was the prince in a universe that mirrored the reality of his mind, of his self, of his very soul.

+ MASTERLIST

What would the priests have thought?

Eternal curse, life in oblivion, dealer with devils, merchant of dark.