Cold

The world does not have time for happy, kind, love, compassion. There are time limits on these things, the necessity to draw back to death, fear, insecurity, anger, hate, impatience, destroys rainbows and green grass and clear waters. Good things, happy things, they are like bastards, illegitimate, lies, no merit can be found in “good” and “happy.” There is no truth in happy, sorrow, anger...that is where you find truth.
This world is black and gray, colors are illusions, escapes from reality to stare at for those moments when the desire is for life to just end. Red is a beautiful lie, love, roses, romance, but those are illegitimate, lies, blood....thats what real, thats what is truth, red is blood, death, pain, dark.
What about green? Grass, trees, apples, eyes, green is fraud, just like blue, and purple and yellow. The world screams for sorrow, anger, fear, lust, hate, these are what is true.
I don’t walk around and see beauty, I walk around and see pointless, happiness is death. I would like to tell them they are killing themselves, if they try to be happy their souls will turn black with the disappointment of its lie. If you let yourself love you might as well place your head on a chopping block, it will gut you, rip you to tiny pieces and no matter how angry and bitter you get...you will still cry and hate yourself for every tear that falls to the ground. Your sorry soft heart should be growing thinker, harder, slowly closing, but instead you learn to lie. Hope is death but you still cannot rip it out, it refuses to leave, you cannot kill it, it rots away at what is left of your pathetic existence.
I hate what I see in the mirror, there is nothing lovely about her, she is weak, dark and meaningless. Her poor sleeping beauty heart cries to be red, green, blue. Why wont she just die, instead she clings to life lying in a frozen meadow of sorrow. Maybe once she forgets what summer is like, what warmth and red are she will let go and leave me alone. Stop begging for someone to show her love, adoration, and delight in her. Her life hurts me, I hate her tears.