White, in visual sense is the purest hue of them all.
However, white also provokes monotony.
If the sky was nothing but clouds,
Anyone with an artistic perspective would go insane.
For our whole world is an empty opus,
and we can’t fill it without destroying the atmosphere in which we live in.
But our conforming society does that now.
The blue acts as a sheath from the already existing,
continually spreading damage.
But there’s beauty in small portions of destruction,
And we tend to over dose quite a bit.  
There’s always comfort in the grey clouds of a boisterous front.
We shed flowers of their pedals,
So we can be reminded that even the most beautiful pieces of nature,
Can be reduced to nothing.
We destroy each other,
With love.
Not because it’s healthy,
But we feel as if it’s a necessity,
That although the same stories have been told
Over, and over,
We are willing to reread them,
Hoping that one-day we can defeat the writer,
And have our own endings.
Visually, we don’t want to see white,
because humans cannot stay pure for long.
But in terms of words,
all we crave is white,
Except so many people spew black
and everything is so easily mixed together,
it’s hard to depict between the two,
and before you know it,
words you thought were white,
pure,
are burned to a crisp
without you even lighting the match.
The grey is no longer comforting.
You could never light a match,
and still receive the second-hand smoke.
It seems that the strikers forget,
Not all have stooped to their level of greed,
pity,
and have kept the matchbox closed.
Then there’s the artificial,
callous,
Speech of sky blue.
The same blue that sheaths our polluted sky,
is sheathing our polluted minds.
Some are too cowardly to face the white,
and must sheath it with plastic blue.
The worst part of it all:
the strikers only make the plastic stronger.

I wage war
That's never been seen before
Is sanity worth fighting for?
I'm not really sure

Insanity?
A calamity?
I call it individuality!

Who is Society
To create this hypocrisy?!?
It seems like such a tragedy
To waste such ingenuity
To dull the creativity

"I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead;
I lift my lids and all is born again.
(I think I made you up inside my head.)

The stars go waltzing out in blue and red,
And arbitrary blackness gallops in:
I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead.

I dreamed that you bewitched me into bed
And sung me moon-struck, kissed me quite insane.
(I think I made you up inside my head.)

God topples from the sky, hell's fires fade:
Exit seraphim and Satan's men:
I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead.

I fancied you'd return the way you said,
But I grow old and I forget your name.
(I think I made you up inside my head.)

I should have loved a thunderbird instead;
At least when spring comes they roar back again.
I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead.
(I think I made you up inside my head.)"

All armies are the same
Publicity is fame
Artillery makes the same old noise
Valor is an attribute of boys
Old soldiers all have tired eyes
All soldiers hear the same old lies
Dead bodies always have drawn flies

My insides are broken,
They bleed and they weep,
For I've been unkind,
To this soul that I keep.
I find that I'm ugly,
My insides are thick,
My outside, it jiggles,
So I make myself sick.
This addiction, it started,
On account of a name,
The boys called me "Thunder-thighs"
As a part of a game.
This name, it would scar me,
And darken my heart,
It convinced me of things,
That would rip me apart.
I thought that when empty,
This pain, it would cease,
Yet it only encouraged,
The growth of the beast.
This beast that I speak of,
It lives in my head,
It plays on my fears,
And it wishes me dead.
It screams in the night,
From it's den of deceit,
"You can be lovely,
Just purge what you eat!"
So I bow to my ruler,
At a porcelain thrown,
I flush out the ugly,
And I'm never alone.

Now with each phasing moon,
The pain grows in my chest,
My hair has become brittle,
And I can't seem to rest.
I search in the mirror,
For some noticeable change,
But it only shows failure,
Our mind is deranged.
This reflection I see,
Is fat and so vile,
So I run to my throne,
And puke up more bile.
I want to be pretty,
And I want to be thin,
So nothing will stop me,
This war I will win.
But my bones become weak,
And my skin becomes dry,
I can't seem to breathe easy,
And I can't seem to cry.
I cut into this flesh,
That repulses me so,
I cover with clothing,
So no one will know.
My head spins in the chaos,
As I fall to the floor,
The blackness engulfs me,
As I reach for the door.
I call out for help,
But no one is home,
No one can hear me,
I am alone.