Van Gogh cut off his ear
gave it to a
*******
who flung it away in
extreme
disgust.
Van, ****** don't want
ears
they want
money.
I guess that's why you were
such a great
painter: you
didn't understand
much
else.

You have built a home of pain, love, rage, and utter madness inside of me.
I want you- out.
All of you.

I want you hand rolled and in my mouth
I want your fingers curled around my hair
and I want to taste you

I always thought I would forever miss out
I am always searching for something just beyond my fingertips

Specks of dust floating three inches from your nose

and I see you in eyelashes
and freckles
and glimpses of a smile always so pure

I see you in black
and green
and blue

I see you in the colour of your lips after you’ve been kissing me

I see you in black

I see you in the way your hair moves in my hand
and the way the sun shines and your pupils dilate

I see you in high definition colour

Ive wanted to jump off the roof too many times to tell you
and you seem to be infiltrating my darkness with the warmth in your eyes

and theres a shine I can never fit into my drawings
and 5 minute sketches of your bones on lined paper

but you are not to be pinned down by ink and pencil

you are limitless and deep and I am falling

Only I am dreaming of falling into you instead of to the ground

I am breaking bleakness instead of bones
I never dreamed I wouldn't be alone

January cold desolate;
February all dripping wet;
March wind ranges;
April changes;
Birds sing in tune
To flowers of May,
And sunny June
Brings longest day;
In scorched July
The storm-clouds fly
Lightning torn;
August bears corn,
September fruit;
In rough October
Earth must disrobe her;
Stars fall and shoot
In keen November;
And night is long
And cold is strong
In bleak December.