I am gray, the color of disappointment, of rainy days, of things I never wanted.
I am beautiful, like the exquisite curve of a golden beetle's leg, or the delightful sound of spoons banged against metal pots and pans.
I thrive on ugliness, on cacophony, on brutality, and on hatred.
I create violence when I can, turn friends against each other. I enjoy it. I am an utter ruin, a loathsome, detestable nothing.
I soak in the despicable words of humans and the fights that every living organism suffers, day by day. I am the cause of loneliness, of sadness, of sickness. I give people the loss of will to live.
I am not cruel, for without me, the dramatic and ever-changing stage of blue above would not part for sunny skies.
I was a mistake, I hear people say. I was never meant to be.
An accident, as if I was dropped out of the sky by a passing bird with indigestion.
Gray is the most beautiful color, yet it is the ugliest.
It is the mutest color, yet it calls out to us all.
I am nothing.
I am nothing.
I am gray.