I want to paint:
The memory of my icy hands cradling around a thunderstorm coloured mug filled with a salted caramel and white chocolate latte.
The impossibility of a fast and furious Lamborghini zooming across the midnight sky. VROOM! VROOM!
The sound of leaping lightning bolts shooting and screaming at me with pure anger.
The smell of fuming flames flickering, booming and exploding like laughter erupting in the deafening silence.
The taste of scarlet strawberries as red as blood dripping on a white, washed T-shirt, gooey, oozing marshmallows, as Belgium milk chocolate trickles down below on it to make my taste buds tickle.
The distance between the beginning and end of this poem!