The Room with Many Doors

The poem of vincent van

Painting what would never be .
If starry night could set me free.
I'd lose an ear for love
that debt I payed but was stood up

I sit in tower , a captured lady
It seems this damsel's in distress.
I paint for pleasure just to know ,I've not
Completely gone yet.

The only thing coherently real is my hate that's turned to steel . While i exorcise my demons,
paint the canvas red it's bleeding.
While my eyes leak deep blue . I realize
The rumors ,true

I've lost it all, my love , my mind
The only bit, a fleeting trace
Are the paintings I create
I paint my stories to live on,
A strange way of proving my existence
But who will ever know the life of mad man committed