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If brokenness is an art, mine must be a masterpiece thus fragmented hearts are papers who ne'er ceased.
Tears are no other than but hues who puts color on the painting yet a rendezvous of my blues Can't you just see I'm hurting?
Displayed in a long series of museums. Portrayed nothing but a beat of stammered soul. Violent chromes suspended up in the air forming fumes- Nonetheless, torments can't be recognize as foul.
All I can declare, its a matter of proof that being broke is aesthetic. Just paint a smile don't snare Beauty! Spectacularly not ever synthetic.
