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