The town that exists inside my ribs cage worships you like a god.
It's people pray to you with flames in between their fingers and somewhere in the suburbs of my heart, a teen writes theories of how and why you're nothing but a personification of humankind.
She rolls her eyes whenever scouts knock on her door asking for money for the church and every now and then she lets her dog pee at the temple's garden.
Her brother tells her she has a cat personality in a city where everyone seems to be a dog person, and she asks him what's the problem of being more logical and less romantic.
If he's real,
she begins as she makes dinner for two,
Then why did he leave?
YOU ARE READING
Bittersweet
PoetryThis is a compilation of poems and other random things I write, usually at 8 a.m. in the subway or 11 p.m. while I eat cereal.
