Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Jul 2013
The windows are open
its a hot summer night.
And I fear my thoughts will tumble
out and down
                     down
                           down
onto the patio.

Why did God create hearts if they get pierced
like an egg yolk?
Didn't he consider us
we starving, weak humans?
I learned in Catholic school
God doesn't have time for anyone
unless you are dying.

I think I might be.
Written by
Celeste  Singapore
(Singapore)   
442
   noa harriott
Please log in to view and add comments on poems