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Color. Fleeting color. As mindless as it is endless. Tell me when it rains so I can see your lusted passion be washed away. In the haze a mind is flowing continuously forward. Cautious to never look back. I love you as much as I need, as much as I have the desire to see your waking death as it consumes the last bit of you. Your hatred means nothing. It is the life that sparks around us when we meet. Do you feel it there, as every other little death that occurs inside? You are weak. It is undesirable. Just as everything you so zealously give forth to anyone who will take it. Anyone who would be so careless as to listen. Bleed me of your ways and make the color meaningless. I am not you. Not once have I been you. I never will be. Feel the pain inside my skull, aching from you and yours. Paint my discordance red upon the walls of your corpses lying across the pavement of your blindness. Show me the way things could be. Colorless beauty. Find my passion in black and white.

Come forward to me, show me what they have done to taint you. If you let me, I would wash it away. I would show you the path that you so earnestly look for and so foolishly forget about. Let me show you the rain. Explore the storms that you have been avoiding. Neglect will get you no where. You can only run so far before it catches up with you. I don’t think you even care. You would do anything to keep your own. Anything to keep you from the knowledge of all the deaths you would encounter inside yourself. You are always so afraid to change; do you even know what change is? Look inside the empty hollow that you’ve created and tell me you know better. Tell me that is the emptiness you want to change. Know that it is not yourself that is changing, but your ways; defining a better you. Something for you to work with and discover. Tell me that it is wrong for you to ever consider such a thing; I know you will not change. Your words are as fleeting as the sound created from a butterfly flapping its wings. You could change so much, but you always so soundly refute it.

Could you reflect your life with the patterned colors on a palette? Would you paint for me in dull grey tones, or would you choose vibrant technicolors? Not all is what it seems, but will you notice? Your passion is a fickle thing, always wanting to be known. No matter what your choices are, it is not how you make them or what they are; it is the reason behind your choices that such things culminate. On occasion. Would you let the water paint your life with you, blurring the lines in ways you would have never thought about? None of it makes a difference to you as long as it is what you want. Could you dare to change that? The colors never mattered. Merely expressions of bold thoughts that were desired to penetrate more than everything around them. They would have anyway. Color is everywhere in your life, but could you find the black and white? Could you tell me what it is like, what it means?

Then... Be my colorless shell, painted grey.