We are like Van Gogh and Gaugain

Yet another one of our pensive torrid nights or days

while we think
we’re still young.
It’s a feisty rehearsal of hope and old friends’ reembrace
at a distance of seas, years and national regret,
I feel…dark.
It’s an infinite night
of salt, haste and so much emotional chaos and hurdles
On Electra’s hurdling stage,
drawing me closer and closer to you
on the strings of a piano from the future when I can actually play my own songs
even if
in my mind, Electra…she always wins
with a resonating sound
against my mumbling hands wounded with stains by sweet men and dyslexia blues
even if it’s not even her game,
I turn jealous and human, I hit and destroy,
thousands of miles away, my starry night has no stars in it, no bleeding ear,
just a yellow dress, solitude,
yellow and blue
a permanent curtain of sadness
strokes of fury and paint, old peasants on fields every goddam day,
no oil could make this tone unintense and unwild
flowers go pale with death in any corner and vase
I bleed with my dirty nails with dirt under screaming
I don’t wanna paint anymore, I work to exhaustion,
I write until all my verses scream “I don’t need you”
My hat and my vision all fail me
Until that’s nothing above me not in me anymore
Just
envy and hunger,
like crows floating
Over the whole world.