I understand the situation is not ideal;
we were born human and surely
that's not the best of luck.
We are confused animals,
we eat ourselves
and each other.
We live and die in mundane
and embarrassing ways,
the universe indifferent at best.
Your god does not exist
and I am sorry for you.
Despite all of this,
we are given the ingredients
for joy and love and magic;
they are scattered about the dark
like carnival prizes.
You'll sometimes find me wandering the night
gathering them like stones.
