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I’ve tasted my blood before, haven’t you?
It tastes like rust and dirt. It stings.
I guess that means Van Gogh wasn’t crazy. After all, if blood tastes like sadness then yellow paint must taste like happiness. If we can’t find emotions through color then we will all drown in black tar; if we don’t find something to help us feel then we will all drown in black tar.
Starry Night (via dontcryjustacid)
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