The Artist Without Art

I am Pablo Picasso.
I envy oblivion and agony as if I didn’t feel it within myself
but just liked to observe it in other people.
I like to think that I am not sick
that my depression doesn’t have me drown in the blood and tears every morning before I drag myself out of my lie.

I am Vincent Van Gogh.
I swallow yellow paint until my organs are drenched in happiness
because I am so desperate to revive what I once was
that I will bleed toxins until I love myself again.