The Cerealbowl Collective

Seclusion swelling from your veins, a rage to rival all others.

Dulling the flames? Laughable, they laud lighthearted efforts.

Sights to saunter past sore eyes: sorrowful in a sense, surprisingly scathing.

One must wonder… why?

Set in, stones stack themselves neatly on your plate.

Placate - just this once - the one and only resourcefulness you resort to.

Time.

Time - again - picks and packs a heat (hearty) and, unsung, locks and loads, licking the cartridge.

Cartilage carries it all.

Speak.

Spacing tongues apart in parts that practice waves - sea and hand - scalding us all.

Slander, shatter the self-indulged.

Importance: inflicted by the source, outsourcing all we’ve become.

Disparaging efforts to extinguish cohorts cohabitating [collaborating] with coloured characters.

Eyes, wandering and wavering: waylayed, if you will, for a willful war.

Mere mouths moisten… meaninglessly.

Struck down, states suffocate their own kind.

Silence - if only you could - the jagged teeth on your spine.

“I saw you kicking the ball”

While seemingly empty glasses split and crack in the swelter, sipping on their long-lost lives, a narrow-minded fortune unfolds in the far-flung fringes. Dizzying, black and white photographs syphon off the the symphonies filling and emptying your watered eyes. Satellites, leeching from your bones the brutal dawn - setting upon your senses - a sun that shines you warnings of the past that awaits you; months from mouths that mark the way.

Violent, augered cynicism perforating skin as it jetisons bile from all your worthwhile internal organs, organizing shattering bones as it rips through the supple sentiments. The sickened, creeping black froths from the cracks of skin - dried and hardened by mumbling melodies blanked from your memory. Chemicals and the incessant, ceaseless chatter of a world thrown to the dogs reverberate blindly around plastic doors, showing their sheen (unlocking the satire within). Through the looking-glass table, strained retina, forcing blood through capillaries, sewing shut the symbolism soaked in sarcasm and sadness.

Disdainfully shredding documents of your demise, slowly and disjointedly looking backwards, projecting forward mistakes you crave to relive until the grave.

Wealth not measured in Silver Or Gold …

Spliced together, lying in fields soaked with the pure, white glow of the season.

This dizzied swelter dains to wander from our bodies’ fingertips, tearing the air in an ambulating, nomadic passion, beating in ferver, somehow expecting.

The eyes moisten with stunning clarity, clearly seeing the light, innate with knowledge of nothing but flickering glimpses, glimmers of skin: silken, glistening touch, soaring over the small of our backs.

Brushing delicately, hesitantly, against the rosy-pink rush, staring back into shining, stunningly crafted beautiful blue. Blue eyes, cling to rust and rain of intertwining stories - tucked away and undisturbed by the palindromic powers at be. Unearthing forbidden (so it would seem) earthly treasures.

Honest looks locked away in the icy, light-blue shine and the briny wonders of the nights we used to imbibe and inject in a frenzied haze, hearts thundering mercilessly, an impending downpour of tactile, electric embrace, radiating with clawed grip, clinging to a love hell-bent on passing through every pore and every metered, destructive gaze: hearts and hands. We thrash and flail, throats scarred with screams for temporal silence.

Freeze the finite, rippling upheaval of locked eyes.

Clawing, squeezing, shredding the seams, diving for that wild, trickling air of lust; a damning, sinful reverie of pure, unfiltered fate.

Sealed in embers that slide, effortlessly, down my throat.

Always one step ahead.

Escaping all rhyme, reason, rhetoric and rational thought.

Existing, solidified, in the finite depths of the foaming mind’s eyes;

a hauntingly beautiful, preternatural shudder of deja-vu.

Always one step ahead.

Unicycle to the treadmill, “Match the numbers to the names, place no value” , snidely, “Don’t ask”.

Longing, linger a smile, a simile of gin and a sedated sense of the future: tense.

Dizzy, dilithium dose. Sorting words falling from foaming mountains, mouths, modes of ingestion.

I have severed the cord to the hive-mind, find yourself.

Check doorways.

Flick switches.

Scan the clocks. This duality is strained, strange, flipping seemingly simple seams, ripping apart violent clarity.

“I’m sorry” booms the voice, “Only one can stay here.”

Its about time. The first of many.

Take little nibbles, or swallow it whole.