In my freckles and marks are constellations but they only see scars, just cracks in a black sky that poked through that are light years away. Now that shine is dwindling down and I showcase my once lovely light as dead stars. I shake off their long stares as I pass them, they shudder at the sight of my pale midnight, while I'm stargazing the ever-blossoming white twinkle in the arrangement of their stars.