Vodka could be virulent, knives could be very keen, grenades could be dead destructive, and beautiful boys could be annihilative. The last part is somehow the strangest, the most foreign of all. It’s a fact people rarely fathom, not very penetrable, if glanced at with average eyes. Beautiful boys, they are not some Persian or Greek myths. Ganymede is not only their single, one and only form. They are objects of superiority; they have superior appearances, superior intelligence, and superior energy. They stand above all. You crouch beneath them. This is the unavoidable fact, yet hidden under the most comfortable, shoddy blanket of worldly pleasure.
Beautiful boys, also known as murdan, are the most dangerous weapon that appear in the form of lovable creatures. They don’t bite you like a cobra. They don’t thrust into you like a sharpened blade. They don’t obliterate you like a summer typhoon They come to you as perfect beings. They have the gentlest cataclysmic aura. The severity of their sovereign psychological strike is indiscernible. You won’t notice that they come to destroy you.
They are never pushy in your eyes. Their demands are equal to the supreme ordains of the religions of the ancient. The worst portion of the story is you won’t notice this. They appear like guys who take everything slow. Their charming blue eyes would melt your heart away. Their blue eyes remind you of the cyan ocean. Their ruby lips would cause you to salivate. Their ruby lips resemble the best cherry in the undisturbed region of Anatolia. Their youthful facial structures would bedazzle you. Their youthful physiques somehow have the aroma of a tropical paradise. Their decency will never seem fabricated. They reflect your desire for the kind of friend you always dream of; the friend who will stay next to you till you wake up from a long coma, the friend who will enunciate their concerns when you get sick, the friend who will feed you up with lentil soup when your hands are broken. They feign interest in your business when you think love would be the only possible justification for that.
Their fair, pinkish skin would confuse you. You would unconsciously associate them with tantalizing women of multicultural legends. You would associate them with twinkly pubescent girls. You would unconsciously agree with David Hume’s theory of association. Beautiful boys could kill you. They could confuse you with images of mirages. They could confuse you with a fatamorgana. They could play a Mozart’s song of rapture in your head.
Beautiful boys don’t play around with words to seduce you. They, themselves, are seductive. You would succumb to their lyrical verses. They love to play around with people as they take people for granted. Beautiful boys are the living, animated version Mona Lisa. Their smiles are mucilaginous. You would long to stick with them physically, or at least, mentally. Beautiful boys are dangerous in either way. They would thin the border between reality and fantasy. They would thin the border between heaven and hell. They would thin the border between home and den. Most importantly, they would thin the border between you and them.
Beautiful boys would like you to pamper them, but they would not offer themselves to pamper you. They are cruel beings, wearing masks of pets. You would love them like how you love your kitten, but they would harm you like a land mine. Tick tock, tick tock, now your limbs are gone. Dup dap dup dap, now you’re beheaded. You would not realize it when they bite you- at your shoulders, at your butts, at your limbs, at your hands, at your neck, or even at your face.
You would only be fooled by their promising words which usually don’t happen to be very practical in reality. You would only be bewildered by their words. You would not know when they hit you. You would not see them when they evolve into monsters. They have zombie’s genes in their cells. They are saber-toothed babies. They are vampires in disguise. They would eat you up. Your lungs, your kidneys, your bladder, or even your eardrums will be their casual dinner. You shall be aware of this now, young men. Pretty boys are not a petty issue.
To fall into their trap is not a western disease. They are, in actuality, are a part of universality. Those pretty boys should not be the imam for prayers. Those pretty boys should not be left in private places with other boys. Those pretty boys must not be left in showers with their friends. Those pretty boys should not be left playing video games with your sons. Those pretty boys are not supposed to be on bed with you. Your passion will be catapulted by the shady whispers of devils, and it will skyrocket up the seventh heaven, before you turn out to be one of those pedophiles on newspapers.
Those pretty boys are not some petty business. Those pretty boys could cause the hardest predicaments. Those pretty boys are not toys. Those pretty boys would offer you false joy. Those pretty boys are as strong as an alloy. Those pretty boys could get you unemployed.
Those pretty boys could be as charming as Aaron Carter. Those pretty boys could sing lullabies with the voice of Bieber. Those pretty boys would make you feel as if you are their final destination. They would make you feel as if you are their one and only aspiration. They would make you feel you’re their inspiration. In fact, they would only bring you to your own devastation.
They are dangerous for being beardless. They are dangerous for seeming friendless. They make you think they’re lonely and homeless. They are the group of amrads, the forbidden boys, the forbidden object of lust, the taboo in all civilizations. They are the fire of shahwat. You should not shake hands with them for fun. Their skin is the material of infernal design. Their fingers would be soft, soft enough invite you to their loft of Hades. Their cute smiles are worth a thousand miles. They are dangerous in nature. They are dangerous for being baby-faced. They are your sins, your babyfaced assassins.
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