red and blue and green

My hands are painted red and blue and green,

But it's nothing like the outside I've seen,

I sit on grey concrete, kiss the blue sky

But over there is a rainbow that'll die.

"A storm is coming I can feel it in

my bones," she says and brings me into dim

room and I press my hands onto white wall

before she turns on the angel bright sharp

TV then green then blue then red, and I

Cry out because the screen screams the same mix

Of brown that has appeared upon the wall – 

In between, covering, the red and blue

And green. I cannot understand what they're

saying as all I hear is red and blue

and green, but in the wrong order, and it's

scary when the men in the black suits say,

"Purple and brown and black we do today

because the red and blue and green can't stay."

I do not understand purple or brown

or black. So I look outside but I see:

The green of the trees turning warm brown,

The blue sky engulfed in a deep purple,

A red apple rotting into dirt brown,

But I only understand red and blue and green.