Gentle Delirium

I must have gone mad, tossing out promises like confetti, watching them fall knowing none would ever touch the ground. And you stood there, steady, trust offered in both hands as if I deserved it. Tell me, is that faith or just a softer madness believing truth can sprout in a mouth that only knows how to bleed? Or are we both nursing a convenient kind of amnesia, just enough to keep repeating this beautiful stupid hurt without admitting it’s pain?