Something I freewrote a couple years ago:
I’m Van Gogh in his prime,
Still got two ears, but I havent forgotten the time,
when I first picked up a pencil,
And designed my ideal life in my mind, like a cut out stencil,
Misunderstood, unnappreciated, he’d be glad to see me make it, and use my mental,
Was he insane? Did he have problems he couldn’t fix, rob him of his brain?
All I know, is my mind and this biro, and he was probably in pain, dark nights and darker days,
Till horribly, the demons won and his body was lain, to rot away till not a pulse throbbed in a vein,
Death came for him and he hopped on a train,
To a better place that god hadn’t claimed,
You can still see him, living, alive, not in the skies, look closer he’s probably framed,
Maybe you think of him as odd and deranged,
And while you play COD and your games,
It’s a Starry Night and I see Sunflowers. God I feel dazed..