Humans are inevitably inconsequential.
A blip in the world's program.
A stumble in the universe's stride.
Tell me; What good have we done?
Not a mole or a freckle,
But a scar.
Come to be through luck and mishap-
A roll of the Sun's cruel dice.
Eat. Fuck. Sleep. Die.
But where, one may ask, is the meaning?
We can't find it, and we never will.
Astride on Death's horse.
Vulnerable to the bears that feast on our scales.
We will cease soon, and the normal will return.
It will prevail.
Our birth is our death,
And from ashes we will return.