Amour Insanité
I'm the best kind of insane
Kiss me till I can no longer feel my brain
Trail your hands down my psychosis
To say I'm mad is not a diagnosis
The nape of your neck tastes...
Like vanilla galaxies still expanding in my mouth
Light years into a future that might not exist,
But what if it did?
Would that future smell like persimmons?
I'm quite sure diamonds are not worth the trip
What good are tears when broken smiles sit so comfortably on uncertain lips?
Let me make them certain
Tastes like sadness, little bit of love
-- Dash of regret.
