The paint is dark, and the object barely visible. It is torn in blocks, triangles, and ragged shapes that form my weeping soul. My soul, as we speak is wilting away into a state of emptiness and nothingness. I have no symbol, no ribbons for the pain that need to be wiped away. My soul clings to life, and for love I strive.
Words can no longer have any meaning.
I am nothing but an abstract for the eyes to see, and the mind to ponder.