I have a crazy *** appeal,
My fruit of time is in-between conscience thoughts and no protection

My threats of sanity lie between lust and your timeless ticks of sweat as they drip from friendly lines of maturity and trust
Whom should I trust?
Am I your friend?
I have no friends

I chew the base of my thumb like you lick the insides of my brain,
Another worldly combustion I feel nonetheless to my ulterior motives
As I ride on your pink pony of sweet faith,
My sunsets drip on your flesh,

My love is like a fly sitting on your neck,
licking off sweat
As you close your eyes and tilt your hair,

My boom breaks into a million Constellations