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Divergence
‘It’s so depressingly ugly,
He’s disgusting
I just don’t understand.’
It distresses them.
I feel the misery.
I coat myself in the deep purples and blacks.
Reach through the gilded frames,
Climb out,
And leave inky impressions on the gallery floors.
I trace the Braille
Of the oil mixture.
And the fibres,
Refract up to my brain.
And I bear that reassuring pain.
I see through the grotesque and strange.
I find the beauty
Through the clogged arteries
Of paint, lyrics, negatives, tears.
For as one once said,
‘Art is to disturb the comfortable,
And comfort the disturbed.’

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