I know, Van Gogh,
we share the same fear.
There are stories we wish we could tell,
but no one ever lends an ear.

Sunflowers are warm and rustic
before the twinking Starry Night.
To be mad yet artistric-
We make no sense, but it feels so right.

Our paintings were born at the wrong time.
Our masterpieces never made a single dime.
It's hard to admit; this ladder is hard to climb.
Only until we die do our creations reach their prime.