Neon Lament

A scream of colors, a howl of emotions, a face broken down into pieces but somehow still holding together. Like Frida Kahlo rose from the dead, hit a techno club in Berlin, someone snapped her photo in the bathroom, and then turned it into pop art in Photoshop with filters cranked to max. The background looks like a spray can explosion — splashes of red, pulsing yellow like pedestrian lights that never stop blinking, all framed in black, like a window on a train, except the train doesn’t exist.

The flowers in her hair wanted to be traditional, but they couldn’t — someone locked them in neon chains. The face is screaming, mouth open like a wound — but a controlled, calculated wound, one that hurts just for show, though something inside keeps howling. Green skin, red rage, and somewhere in it all, a yellow that tastes like the metallic aftertaste of burnt toast. A scream so loud it hurts, a noise so fierce it leaves you silent.