Freckled through the lenses

face cut out between the body and the wall, both black.

Fingers tight around the smoke stretch towards the window unshut, cold. 

The thin panic of the old present against which one cannot fight: 
the beauty of the lips, black and white, full, half open. 
We will never see such youthfulness again, everything' s lost.

The shlam! of the present vitality is not enough to make us forget about the future, about tomorrow, a day more and a day less. 

Countdown, but when it's over we stop.
Muscles weaker and weaker, they freeze instead of warming up. 
and when the signal is triggered, the knees give in. 
to think that I didn't even want to take part in that race...myself, I never liked competitions.   

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