What color is real?

Today is my sister's birthday.

I was having some crazy thoughts last night, and then I had a crazy dream. Here are the thoughts not the dream.

My soul was red, bloody, visceral, alive. It pumped ideas, hope, movement, calamity.

Then I think my soul was blue. It was quiet, reserved, a sponge soaking up the world.

It grew and then it became green. It looked, it saw, it wanted other things.

It got sticky and ugly and didn't shake off the muck. It tried to clean the junk, but the sludge had gone too deep. The grime was inside making my soul dingy and gray.

So against the rocks it has landed. In the water it has been washed. Through painful slashes and wrenching agony, my soul has been ripped and torn open.

The dirt is gone. And so is the color.