The age of rockets

We are holding our breath

The age of rockets
The sun breaks against the sprain parkway
and I'm convinced that beauty exists
but only when my back is turned
so I close the space between breaks and heel
I'm starting to think that when my eyes close
the whole world disappears

We are holding our breath
and waiting to die from loneliness
we are holding our breath
we are the dirt that eats its self

Are you holding your breath now?
is this moment perfect?

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