Rotton Lemons

I am sitting here with the slight taste of rotten lemons on my lips
My tongue tastes like arsenic blue
The air is dark and my mind is empty
My catatonic state of 'what to do?'
There are six walls around me
Four if you only count the walls and not the floor and ceiling
I take turns staring at each one periodically
I am back
I think to myself
But I know I am lying
I stay up, lips parted with surprise
I still do not understand what happened
But I can relay the entire event in my mine
Until I glance at the clock
I only have four hours
Four hours until I have to pretend to be someone else

I roll over
Remove noise from my ears and allow myself to dive into my dream
Of a girl, with rotten lemons on her lips
Which are stranger than they seem