i understand why van gogh drank yellow paint
because sometimes i have a hard time
pulling myself away from the art

i am miserable
basically pitiful
and i'm lost in a love that can never be returned

see i was never taught love
so i never graduated to self love
never saw a reason
and now that i'm older
i wish someone would have told me
my only salvation is a story
of a man
filling himself with ounces of happiness

a glug at a time
he consumed paint
that could **** him
just because it could give him
a sliver of joy

i drink his quirk up
like my own bottle of paint
because hidden within
the confines of his story
is a man who wanted nothing more
than love
and care
that could never be granted

love and care
that i so crave
as i pour yellow acrylic
down my throat
and smile
knowing that joy may soon
fill me