all we are is bags of hollow bones and lost dreams, barely sentient animals filled with the emptiness between cells

trickling electricity, slowly falling apart

yet beautiful

there is something magical in the freak show of life, the happy coincidence of humans being

hollow bones and fluidity, held together by butcher parchment and rubbery bits

deluded into thinking we matter, are no more than matter, hold significance

mobile bags of guts and dreams, animals in clothing, overgrown ants seeking to fulfill the duties assigned to us through pheromones, driven by need

and it is okay