Dear Van Gogh murderer
You’ve killed Van Gogh
Of course, you weren’t alive when he died
Even if you were,
It wouldn’t have made a difference
Because you’re blind,
To art
You cross a thousand Van Goghs everyday
On the street, on your phone, on your thousand other screens
You’re simply too blind to notice them
So all you do
Is slap Van Gogh all over yourself
Your wallpapers, your notebooks, your coasters, your walls
Your t-shirts, your mugs, your laptop sleeves
Filling the pockets of some soulless corporation
Some burnout designer dying to make ends meet
While a thousand Van Goghs go about
Unrecognized uncelebrated
Spiralling into doubt
Over their art,
If they can call it art?
While you smear yourself with The Starry Night
A star dwindles into despair
Finding it easier to chop off a limb or an ear
Than to go on creating art
In a world that’s blind to it
You’ve turned one of mankind’s greatest
Into yet another scam
That’ll forever be milked for
Your need to display your artsiness
To see a Van Gogh on you
Is like seeing a hunter display
A stuffed head on their walls
Of the game they killed
The hunter never understood life
And you never understood art
Go find a Van Gogh
In your city, your street, your home, yourself
And perhaps then
You can flaunt
The real one a little
Till then
You’re nothing but a murderer.
