Sinner's Meal

The strike it comes
Between the lenses
Cast to ground
Undue fist stings

But who are we to judge?
We defend with sinners forearm

As if we had cast no stones
And as if we would not strike back
The fist that comes
If we could

We, the naive
The weak
The crumblers
Like apple fresh from oven

Pastry sweet and sanctimony on the breeze
But we are still
The devil sugar

No better than Twinkie
Or sweet parfait

And so who are we to judge the judger?
The impaler
The boaster
Misunderstood Twinkie?

In the end there is the pyramid
And we both come under

Obesity-How to.