The mirror inside this little yellow house
paints me melancholy
this morning—
pale blue brushstrokes beneath my eyes,
in the hollow of my cheeks.
I remind myself that I am the artist,
and squeeze a dirty tube of cadmium yellow
into my mouth.
I taste nothing.
I press the tube hard against canvas,
and spread until it runs out.
I know there must be more inside,
and I slice the bottom with a pocketknife.
I start to cut off my hand,
but write a letter first instead:
Dear Theo,
The sadness will last forever.