"One may have a blazing hearth in one's soul and yet no one ever came to sit by it. Passers-by see only a wisp of smoke from the chimney and continue on their way." -Vincent van Gogh in a letter to his younger brother Theo van Gogh in July of 1880"
I've taken the straight razor to my ear like a third-rate van Gogh.
Impressionism bleeding into Expressionism.
Mania trickling into an unmitigated need to find the beauty and grace he only found with a paintbrush.
Blood clinging to the horse hair bristles like the blood splattered in the margins of every page I've ever filled. Each line and brush stroke choking out a futile cry for help as the wheat fields burn and the sunflowers wither.