Sprinter

Lost in a deteriorating syllables,
My pressed eyes are the trigonometry symbols of geometrical forms of illusion.
Tangled up in a centrifugal force.
I forgot to let myself down.

Butterfly wings,
(Cover your eyes)
Angels
(Aim the trigger to the blooming spring)
Green intoxicated heart
(Breathe in, breathe out)
Skulls
(Why are we here?)

Horizontal street, three degrees sunrise.
Don't look back in disgrace.
I'm not afraid to lose this one.
I will see you again tomorrow.