Vincent van Gogh by Rosenfeldtown
This art type is called illustration and the guy staring at you with green eyes is ‘Vincent Van Gogh’.
The flowers have dried up, I leave my paint-brush near my heart to smoke the pipe. Theo, I strongly advise you to smoke a pipe; it is a remedy for the blues, which I happen to have had now and then lately.
The flowers have dried up, I have my wine to drink. I have tasted her so deep, dripping, the blood-red and wine-red are different now.
The flowers have dried up, the ravens I hold in my hands have refused singing, their eyes have turned red. They aim razor at the wine-red imageries of my art.I hear her hums in my ears as if every drop of wine oscillates there.
Gogh then cuts his ears and boxes it to her, there is still a drop to drink.
“You often ask why I don’t speak a lot. You had asked me why did I stop writing letters. But when I turned to answer, as I looked into your eyes, as deep as I could, you didn’t have the same question anymore.
I have communicated to you far more things than there is, in the recorded history. So, what is it that you want to hear? What is it that you want to read? You’re afraid of not knowing the “plan”, aren’t you? But brother, we are all on the same side of the fence.
Although this time, it’s the greener one. Not that it’s a felony to sit on the fence one leg on each side; I choose to face nature head on with all my limbs together. You say you’ll act humble forever and will only cease after finding it. But I have my peace in not having to look for anything. I am joyful to be acting my own master.”
