I live in a world of white.

Have you ever seen something so pristine it’s perfect? I see it everyday. White walls White lives.

Sometimes They let us out. Sometimes I see something other than white. There’s something beautiful about chaos. The way birds chirp in the morning or blood falls from a simple wound. There’s just something about chaos that drags you in. They say that when perfection is corrupted, we will all fall to ruins. But I think that would be a good thing. To escape perfection.

To be something other that what they want.