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The Artist's Curse

I want to be like Van Gogh

His optimism swells

He looks upon his window

And listens to town bells

But one thing you should know

He cut off his own ear

And although he made nice paintings

His ending’s what I fear

History will tell us

‘Twas a self inflicted wound

Historians argue murder

Brought him to his tomb

Maybe like Da Vinci?

With talent to his name

His genius and his skill

Presented him his fame

And although smart and expressive

Da Vinci was depressed

He constantly procrastinated

Detail oriented and obsessed

From projects left unfinished

From Mona Lisa to his plays

From his own understanding

His life was always grey

Fine! You may scoff

Be like Shakespeare, be like Poe

And when you’re done complaining

Pack your things and go!

Well I have news for you

They were artists too

Sure their lives were mostly grit

From Virginia Woolf to Steinback

But that’s the fun of it

That’s what I want to do

Making people happy

Until our lives are through

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Giovanni groggily sat up in his wheelchair. He had fallen asleep again. He gripped the inner wheel as he pushed himself along the sterile hallways. The hallways were so familiar they appeared even in


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