The odds

“What are the odds”
The random numbered cube said
As his heart failed
in surprising its erupting tower
of rage filled disappointment.

“The odds have a hatred for me”
He screamed.
“They hate me”
He sobbed
“They hate”
He whispered

“What are the odds”
The dancing numbered cube asked again
“That we would, you, hate?”

Eyes painting clenched hands
as limbs trembled
in a sorrow flavored rage
“The odds hate me”
“Why”

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