4 to 1

These malformed deficiencies of my soul

Pull the strings of judgement, condemnation

Navigating a fractured landscape, blind

Projecting my own discretions tenfold

Crashing against the meat shields

Of manufactured outrage, manipulation

The dissonance is staggering, spewed

From mouths wired shut, collapsing

Burning into one another, tossed about

In the shaking of the jar, as the hand

Of the marionette smiles above us

While bets are placed, and numbers called