the lost art of living

clattered sun downs drooping like halley's comet whose tail is fading out on a brilliant super nova stealing the show. with haggard stars languishing away from burnt out syndrome, drawn by black holes unconsciously tugging at strings to begin the play again. gravity pulls the tail of halley whose travel halts when driven by collapsing bodies becoming like an avalanche of dark matter disseminating information no longer required. the journey takes a curve route in the heart of the subconscious still breathing light to the awful black sky somber whose claws strike suddenly from the left, a tear renders a blip in footsteps as resounding echoes touch a nerve sending electricity past drooping heads aware of temperamental shifts on the golden hue slowly ripping apart darkness unable to hide. plays unrehearsed, unencumbered by more signals from the commander whose voice is muted. gestures with a hurtling of asteroids zooming for the conscious sparkles making waves on the curve slope reaching into recesses without ripples, without a frown when absolute is taken as law. as right. till the yellow dress covers a blue face trying to distil information warped by gravity with matter no longer concerned of asteroids breaking down before touching. clean slate relative to the chaos of the mind shifting zones to where a heart reached halley first. she has fallen off course - into recesses now in consternation, in conflict with the forces coming from living matter unaffected by the black sky turning a shade pink as yellow spotted dots begin to pelt upon a canvas holding breath. purple almost, then the ravings begin of uncharted journeys into an endless sea of claws with diamond nails picking at craters made through collision. the dust settled, the heart is pried out of halley for she needs it not, having been brought to a full stop. the blue face made more attempts to pry free - to give up the search for dancing stars brought back to the unconscious flat surface locked with many keys made from super novas now filled with ice. tucked away behind the drooping head of halley, kept within a heart taken when collisions meet with impact. the sound is driven out by the mute commander absorbing all that noise, he is too distracted from relativity to notice that stark contrast of light never blending with night. and night holds all the cold dead key, like fallen stars captured when consciousness took the world to be only one way.