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The art of nightmare
The Art Of Nightmare.
To some I'm a monster, a grotesque deformed, living breathing monster, only fit for grave or the prison. Invalidated by their common sense they discern me as a mere object but to myself, I'm an artist with talent corresponding to God himself. Like any other artists, I'm also a passionate lover of the magnificence of beauty. People don't seem to relish, admire my artwork, but it doesn't worry me, I create art for personal delight.
Sometimes I can't reason the hypocrisy of humanity, how can they love the death inflicting, chaos creating, war imposing, segregationalist God who can wipe it all out in a snap of his finger but does not care enough to. Instead, he permits everything that humanity prays against and yet he's, praised and worshipped for, but not me, they branded me a fucking monster.
I don't envy God, at the zenith of my skill I was more famous than any monk, priest or guru or any of the local heroes. I was on the front page of every newspaper, my silhouette was on every news channel, every network ran news tricker on my new artwork, "Black hill monster strikes yet again." "The Black hill monster adds one more count to his scoreboard." "47 and still taking off." "Sikkim police helpless." "Sikkim police in wonderland." "Public demands central intervention."
I lay in my bed beside Henry, basking in the glory of my accomplishment. Henry! My new lover sleeps peaceful and naked and useless. His flabby cock no more functional. His skin smooth, chilly, and livid, his body slightly bloated like a cheese stocked for hundred years. A distinct odour of death mixed with the smell of fresh lavender envelopes the room, it is time for us to part. Another lover who couldn't keep his words, a deep-seated sorrow wriggles out of my heart to settle on the back of my throat, warm stream of tear rolls down my face, as I lunge out of the bed towards the kitchen, take his frozen head out of the freezer and kiss him one final kiss on his pale cold lips. I've managed to create two different artwork on a single canvas, one which is ecstatic and only for me and the other nightmarish for his family and rest of the humanity. 🖤🖤🖤😘😘
.
©su_tshant
To some I'm a monster, a grotesque deformed, living breathing monster, only fit for grave or the prison. Invalidated by their common sense they discern me as a mere object but to myself, I'm an artist with talent corresponding to God himself. Like any other artists, I'm also a passionate lover of the magnificence of beauty. People don't seem to relish, admire my artwork, but it doesn't worry me, I create art for personal delight.
Sometimes I can't reason the hypocrisy of humanity, how can they love the death inflicting, chaos creating, war imposing, segregationalist God who can wipe it all out in a snap of his finger but does not care enough to. Instead, he permits everything that humanity prays against and yet he's, praised and worshipped for, but not me, they branded me a fucking monster.
I don't envy God, at the zenith of my skill I was more famous than any monk, priest or guru or any of the local heroes. I was on the front page of every newspaper, my silhouette was on every news channel, every network ran news tricker on my new artwork, "Black hill monster strikes yet again." "The Black hill monster adds one more count to his scoreboard." "47 and still taking off." "Sikkim police helpless." "Sikkim police in wonderland." "Public demands central intervention."
I lay in my bed beside Henry, basking in the glory of my accomplishment. Henry! My new lover sleeps peaceful and naked and useless. His flabby cock no more functional. His skin smooth, chilly, and livid, his body slightly bloated like a cheese stocked for hundred years. A distinct odour of death mixed with the smell of fresh lavender envelopes the room, it is time for us to part. Another lover who couldn't keep his words, a deep-seated sorrow wriggles out of my heart to settle on the back of my throat, warm stream of tear rolls down my face, as I lunge out of the bed towards the kitchen, take his frozen head out of the freezer and kiss him one final kiss on his pale cold lips. I've managed to create two different artwork on a single canvas, one which is ecstatic and only for me and the other nightmarish for his family and rest of the humanity. 🖤🖤🖤😘😘
.
©su_tshant
