this is blank
there will be no
black birds
flying
from the wheat field
today
as Van Gogh
puts the gun
to his head

but there will also
be no
swirling colors
no ears cut off
no paint
eaten

is there
an in between

thoughts
can become
like drugs
too much of them
and your fucked up
and addicted
not enough
and it’s harder
to open up
your head

it’s medicine
it’s medicine
to live life
to find a new voice
perhaps
the real voice
that has lay
hidden
under
all the bullshit
the fears
the anxiety
the feeling
that I must have something
everything
right now
right this minute
I must gobble
up the world
and then nothing
for days
only darkness

maybe it will be better
to live in the constant
soft light of dawn
than the darkest of night
and the brightest of day

~Jenny