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