i am dreaming of the apocalypse
Satan coming down in all blue
declaring the color of suicide today is yellow
that the color of pain today is red
and that the color of god today is blue.

i am dreaming of the supermarket where
god and satan talk, loudmouthed and offensive,
consistently telling the other to *******.

i am dreaming of massacre and all of her
unholy penumbras / i have colored a sun named
after her and left it hanging from a noose in
the color hell of this bedroom. marking off her
endless questionnaire:

Are you suicidal? yes
Are you insane? Yes
Are you the discoloration of the world of tomorrow? The way the future looks drab from this point in time and seems even weaker from that present that belies you with the temptress of future? ...maybe?

i am not dreaming. i am cold and alone in a room
somewhere between purgatory and massacre
where both are a disaster and the real name is
probably something to do with psychiatry and
institutes. i am greeted by satan in blue,
god sulking half silent behind him, mumbling
something in streams of cadmium red.
he tells me; you’ll be staying with us.
he tells me; i wish you luck and hope you get better.

i am not dreaming. the floor is rising in rebellion.
a white flag raised from my side of the battle
both sides truce and lie themselves down
in the unwanted nowhere of persistent ailment
in a bed with paper sheets.

and the question is; am I insane? am i suicidal?
am I the discoloration of the world of tomorrow?
yes. yes. maybe. the question doubled in on itself.
so are you here for suicide? she asks.
yes. yes. maybe.
my disaster is rolling down my throat like
molasses and i want to die. satan’s color was
blue today, right? i look down. i am in blue.
are you here for satanism?
yes yes maybe
are you here for *******?
yes yes maybe
are you here for real?
no.