.....an unchanging retch of the sort that shifts color from
its first foul, frothy droplets that leap past your lips
to the last painful, pale, clear green whispers that
drool past your chin and drain onto the floor. Shades of
gray, and brown, and red, and black,... An almost festive montage.
An angry, wicked mardis gras of emptiness.
This, this rainbow of the bottomless self, is purgatory.
This is the final solution. The answer.
No, this is the negation of the question....