Fear: A Product Mass Produced

The idle bowl of cereal and milk stay trapped  together 
Mutually assured in misery 

The spoon taps impatiently at a distance 
A thudding that transforms into a rigid groove 
A rigid groove that tries to break up the monotony 

Across the aisle has the moldy bread that waves at its first cousin 
The bread withers in supposed humility and out dangles a limp helping hand 

The hours fade and dissipate into less than what they were 
The milk drains out 
and meets the sewage, 
it's rather bitter long-lost brother in some other life 
Gone goes the flavor 
A wasted nuance with no obituary to save face 

Harkens back to the box that birthed the innocent cereal 
It lies nowadays irrelevant on a cold-blooded sidewalk 
Even the large black trash bags, staying close in packs has abandoned it 

Some stumbling, bumbling, drunk 
and disturbed twat kicks it over into the road 
Reducing the box to just a brand, one of a million 
Divorced from its maker 
Hopefully it may be recycled at some point 
Into what, the world will never know 

At last, the bowl knocks over and collides with the floor 
Crippled like the old man that lays helpless on the couch 
Unable to call his own helping hand, a loved one, make arrangements or reach what might be his last glass of water 
Hanging on in mind and body to some foolish Boomer illusion 

The thudding morphs into a bold pounding 
The mouth inches in feet closer 
Hissing with a battered tongue 
Every remaining taste bud, no different from a fallen angel God gave up on 

The mouth that cheated on the concept of remorse 
Denied asylum to the refugee known as enlightenment arrives at once to collect a payment 
Payment long overdue sadly 
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