Under-toned Constellations

Soft, creeping voices bring a dull, anbaric light
to past lives and losses.
A sinner cries for forgiveness;
induced with the lull of a saint’s cracking halo.

Nothing once understood can be taken back.
The amount of remorse from the sinner’s cold soul
has no effect on the fire shield of a new, whole beginning
in a kingdom of laughter.
Hairless bears clad in tuxedos,
carry platters of confetti concoctions
made only for the ones who learned from the wreckage.

Into no shape is the liar molded,
for he has been laid out to dry and harden
into the unforgivable brutality of loneliness that comes with
the feeling of never being able to fill a void, and get one’s deserved payback.

Total revenge only comes forth once complete happiness is achieved.

Although, once the time does scrape by
every battle wound and broken bone
will have been mended by the touch of the unexpected.

The dots on the ceiling can only be described as fresh love.
The old ran out months ago, hiding in a bottomless pit
full of pressure and doubt.
The walls are closing in on the past,
once the events are compressed into dust
freedom will ensue.

The taste is sweet and healthy,
a bit like the night that the stars started to shift their positions
slightly to the North.

Egos were combined,
leaving shards of old tricks shattered in a polyester bag
hanging from a bed post without a violent scene to watch.
That sight was pornographical;
unethical and murderous.





The future is so close that the scent is already trapped
in every cavity, unearthing forgotten beliefs of
uncanny bliss and the chance of actually living.