It was a mixture of darkness and light.

The metamorphosis of all beings.

The insanely beautiful collided

With the obscenely horrifying.

They danced together, fingers intertwined.

Their bodies swaying to a soft, slow song.

The dense regret was impenetrable.

It stuck to the ballroom's white marble floors.

It clang onto the ornately painted walls,

Hanging down from the crystal chandeliers.

No escape from the longing of the past,

The outstretched hand was already taken.

It’s like saying something you do not mean.

Your hands shakingly cover up your mouth.

Your mind a hushed choir of, “Why did you…”

And all you can see is your words still there,

Fluttering in the air like confetti.

Sinking just like your heart, as they drop down.

Your words collect on the ground in a pile.

You would do anything to pick them up.

But, you know you cannot take them back.

They were already out there, they were heard.

So, you curse your tongue and get on your knees

And you pray for your wretched soul.

It's like the mixing of white and black paint.

Not a strenuous task, plenty simple.

But, when it's done, it's done, no going back.

No matter how much paint you mix with it,

It will always remain a murky grey.

Oh, what a shame it is to be ashen!

For our souls are damned to be silver.

Not the kind that is bright and reflective,

But, rather dreary and monotonous.

We are cursed with an intense fixation.

We are obsessed with our souls' greyish hue.

We want our souls to shimmer like a pearl.

We pretend we never waltzed with evil.

We hope our hurtful words are forgotten.

We attempt to unmix the hoary paint.

Why is it inherited to hate grey,

When there is not one soul on this green earth

That does not have a greyish, leaden tinge?

How does a flower grow without thunder?

How is one full, without feeling hunger?

What is the point of life if there's no death,

What is light without darkness's great depth?