I wonder if Vincent Van Gogh kissed every iris he painted
or if he mistook the mouth of his brush for love.
How much pain he must have been in.
The anxious letters he wrote to his brother, begging.
To have such vivid, swirling dreams
It must have hurt to so desperately to grab out
and ask the night sky what it meant.
or if he mistook the mouth of his brush for love.
How much pain he must have been in.
The anxious letters he wrote to his brother, begging.
To have such vivid, swirling dreams
It must have hurt to so desperately to grab out
and ask the night sky what it meant.
