Playing Poker with God and Satan

God laid down his hand. The Devil had won again. Even Satan has his triumphs. Even God has his failures.

I may not be real. Neither of us is, but I'm the one they love. When bad things happen it's you they hate. But when someone is saved it's me they worship. That world is all theirs. It doesn't belong to either of us. We're not real until they're frightened. Orphaned gods still shitting in their pants. Wanting to be changed.

They crawl toward the parents they've never had. The guidance they lack. From a universe too cold to care for the children it has birthed. They cry when they are bruised. And hate because they feel abandoned by the parents they've never had.

There's just children. Lost in learning the art of empathy. Doomed to fail without us. Though we're not real. They're just helpless gods sweating heavens from every pore. Soliciting angels with big bills on dark corners.

They'd rather be saved than do the saving themselves. Were I real I'd say I am the only excuse they have left.

And I haven't known who to save sinc that last episode of Star Trek.