Vincent

a shot rang out one evening
the pistol to your chest
you lived but unhappily
emptiness and despair
your mind burning

you talked about
wheat fields, crows, cypresses
the colours, the rain
how the skies were foreboding
reflecting
your burning mind

you wanted to cry
but the tears were stuck
no man should have to
live through this
now only absinthe, digitalis
burning your mind