if you don't believe in God, then who are you talking to?

what's there to believe in? god is real, but i don't believe in them anymore. what's there to be faithful to? god isn't faithful to you. when you see them make up new rules and change old ones. usually they don't tell you either.

more delicate than judgmental, but not in a sweet way. god is an unravelling, your feet falling apart on the concrete. god is making your car sick. and you too, you're sick. and you're losing weight, and not in the good way. you're not getting better yet. god is a guilt that god invented. god tells you how to feel. god knows how they want you to feel. don't stare at god for too long.

god is multiple people and they can't decide which one they want to be. god will pick the angriest one most days, because it works well and avoids your questions.

god is serving you up dessert shaped like a coffin, and saying they don't care about your allergies. god is telling you to keep the lights off and turn the music up so they don't have to remember it's you getting them off. but you're the only one who gave god goosebumps and held them while they wept. remember that you held god while they opened up like the sea, and you figured this would be a good place to hide your love. nestled in between two walls of water, even they didn't know it was put there. it's still there, i don't think you're getting it back.

what's there to be faithful to? i'm faithful to you, dear. I say it to the room. The pen. The empty plates and mugs. I say it to the stale air hanging around the side of the bed that still smells like god. it's growing fainter every day.