From broken bits
leftover from a careless destruction,
I am reformed...

Kaleidoscope faced,
fragmented and tormented -
No pulsing Van Gogh, or twisting Dali,
but Picasso shards forced together.

Set in mortar, soul slushed
forsaken Psyche fused pieces,
compartmentalized and pixellated,
an existence threaded through a whisper.

Who can translate
the sound of these colors?



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