miefajia

Vincent van gogh

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Wen/los off-year
Dim the light hangs over the messy studio. Ash ji and colorful paintings, filled with acrid smell, erosion is composed with trepidation. Red and curly hair, full face complex gills man, still deep stare at the depth of the night sky. Canthus still goes by being left alone, grey cold wind blowing all reflection.
Once upon a time, the pursuit of art of crazy, the superhuman genius was dismissive of the world.
Once, hatred, hatred for the world is the world called psychosis, locked up in the hospital, still with enthusiasm for art, with glittering and translucent brush coated with the scenery of heaven.
Once upon a time, to the love of loyalty, stubborn right ear cut off, the blood flow from the let the Yin red blood flow. Will still wield brush, the appearance of his lonely engraved in yellow canvas, records the dark moments of the eternal.
Once upon a time, with a harsh yellow draw the intricacies of sunflower, comments on the vibrant flowers swaying in the years of reincarnation.
Once upon a time, that the countless works, cut by the stream of time, finally, each work is classic inventory.
Once upon a time, in silence death lay in the cold grave, that piece with loess buried lonely face.
Fell broken years gradually heavy wheels, we no longer young. The glimmering a blur of memories, also slowly devoured is strewn at random have the mood for love.
Ragged, the wind the night tear once debris fall with a sign.
Van gogh, the man in the dark, like a tattoo on my heart forever and ever.
Gorgeous sunflower blooming under the haze of the night sky stars, van gogh and me standing in the distance, across the sky and the earth tremble of his hands for a long time can't touch, cold by night breeze frames.