Please Gogh

Van Gogh said,

"the sadness will last forever."

what sadness did he mean?

a personal sadness?

a worldly sadness?

the sadness I feel here, 

he without an ear, 

did he know what they called him?

did they know how he felt?

do I feel?

You found me, 

funnily, I didn't know I was lost.

Oh God such a life without an end in sight, 

I vomit up every sin in repentance, 

I scratch my blessings into the paint, 

I tease my fists and slam them into the wall, 

I am sick, 

I scream to hear something, anything, 

why oh why, 

everything is fine, 

I just, I just don't feel right. 

I'm worried my future will careen into oblivion, 

yet I do nothing to stop it. 

I sit and wait and barter and plead, 

I listen to Blue Christmas with a pit in my stomach. 

I dream, they seem to ream my team of themed thoughts, 

thoughts of grandeur, thoughts of success, 

thoughts so tainted and splayed they're only but a mess. 

Chess, test, chest, best, satiated checkmate. 

Fodder for your Christmas card, penny for your thoughts, 

haven't found a single fuck that I could've bought. 

I'm so tired, and I could sleep, but if I wake, 

what will I wake to find?