The Disassembled Torso
A torso painted, limbs amiss,
A portrait of death’s cold abyss.
Its colours bleed in shades of woe,
Where limbs once were, now hollows show.
Each stroke a sigh, each hue a tear,
A tale of dread none wish to hear.
A muted cry in pigment spread,
An artful ode to realms of dead.
So brief, yet long its message seems,
A morbid lull in life’s extremes.
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