We live in temporary spaces,
Our lives are turned corners of a page.
We breathe at the whim of a body
Over which we have only rudimentary control.
Love is fleeting,
Ephemeral.
Like a joke told a thousand years ago
That still echoes faintly in the room.
And here, now, when sex and intimacy
Are as legitimate and real
As Heaven and Hell to an atheist,
Is where I exist.
I exist at the whim of a mad god
Who lives inside my brain,
Who commands my body
And distributes my pain.
Like all atheists, I believed in him once,
And that was my mistake