White is the colour of snow, do not make it melt,
Do not make it question why it has ever felt;
Do not lay it to sleep, convinced to stop believing,
Exhausted, cold, empty and full of grieving.

I can't spend my nights trying to self-soothe,
There is a reason why ruth rhymes with truth.
If your mouth has to be stained, stain it whole;
Nothing's worse than a devil with an angel's role.

I do not care about morality, just give me peace.
It is almost midnight and my hair is full of grease,
My eyes are tired and yet I'm only bound to wonder
Whether I should have hope or if it's all just blunder.

Curiosity I don't condemn, although it burns
When I am almost content and it only yearns;
It yearns to know the brains in others of my kind.
What a shame it is I cannot read their mind.

White is the colour of stars, don't put shame on them,
Don't blemish their name with your filthy apophthegm.
White is not the colour of lies and never will be,
But it does blur my vision, with that I can agree.

It is innocence and spirit, but then you
Have a right to hate it, and I prithee, do!
So, before to the world I bid Good night:
I've never quite fancied the colour white.


© shishmish