and what you do not know is that
the end of days has already
begun.
there will be no white horses running through the streets
of this penultimate apocalypse. only
voices in the dark,
and the voices of reason that oppose them
from behind raised eyebrows and
steel-rimmed glasses and
medical diplomas hung on the stark walls.
Long before your body
caves in, and offers its soft insides
to the glistening white maggots,
your mind will become a sacrifice upon
the altar of your brilliance.
Your gift is to see color where there is only
light and shadow.
because of this, you will blaze bright and
they will stare wide-eyed and blinded,
not before the revelations you
release like white doves from your fingertips,
but because human nature takes
great pride in tragedy, and
they only wish to see you
grow dark and cold.
They want to see your ashes
drooling and vacant in a pastel room with locked doors,
staring at blank walls for comfort-
anything which does not
seek to tell you its life story so that
it can be immortalized.
And some time later,
though not as long as you might think,
you will see
that the walls are only dead pink plaster
and the voices in the dark
have nothing to say.
It is only then you will realize
that you have already been
consumed.
