I was born in the middle of a war. The hospital was the last known fallout. Located on the dark end of where a street used to be. It was the last functioning building in the apocalypse junkyard equipped with android snipers on the roof and a vending machine chock full of uppers, downers, and all arounders.

The walls are a faded white with silver, red and blue piping. The colors were designed to promote promise of a fantastic future, a better tomorrow. Instead we got this.

The dream liquids flowing from the IV’s would pump you full of heavenly metals that personally hand you to a ticket to somewhere better.

The 23rd dimension was where I came to. My coma in the metallic candy land was once again interrupted. I keep trying to get out but it always happens the second our waves overlap.

I try to connect hands with her but she pushes me away. Away from herself and the black velvet ripple that eats up the sky. It is always behind her. These holes hover over all of us. Maybe it’s a sign.

I wake up cursing yet again to the buzz of acid rain, frustrated from being that close to someone that I could actually function with. I think she feels it too, even though she is hesitant.

She keeps showing up. It’s not my dream any more, it’s ours. No longer content with my dream that sends me only to disappearing objects. I need to feel these objects disappear with my own teeth. I am sorry if I have gotten sloppy with these electronic dreams but they are all I have. A cosmic force of a forgotten element keeps the dreamer in search of the perfect dream, the one that may never arrive.

The wretched, robotic, smoke-stained amputee night nurses try to harmonize my future. They are all tone deaf. Their shrieks break the windows that we no longer have.

Icicles fall from the ceiling impaling anyone who was unfortunate enough to be taking shelter under them. What am I doing here? Is this hell or is hell somewhere much worse that I will soon taste? Will I ever know of another place, or should I say, will I ever get to feel any other place?

For now my mind may paint better landscapes but my feet only know only of this decay, so I bask in it. If I have learned one thing in this junkyard it is this – things may worsen at any given moment so no matter if I am dodging Christian soldiers, shrapnel, or being torn apart from my dream lover (the one without the monitor for a head), the next second could only have you dreaming for such luxuries. I often think of pulling the plug but I heard it only gets worse.

The ancients tell me to enjoy this hell because it is angelic compared to door number 23.