i may never
paint a scene like
vincent
but
i can most certainly
understand
his mindstate.

i may never
write as well as
edgar
but
i will always be
able to feel
his pain.

the more i
dive
into the lives of
the greatest
the more i
find
hairline fractures
that trace
the agony within
my own broken.

delving
into the bipolarity
that feeds
like maggots
through
the dead patches of

joy.

a primer,

etched in blood
along
the remnants of the
nevermore
starry nights
of the soul.