Cory Ruda (7/31/91)
I lay my head in my hands,
just for a few minutes of rest.
My eyes close and my breathing becomes heavy,
only to realize that the crushing scent of Lysol overwhelms my senses.
I open my eyes expecting the darkness of night,
but am greeted by a bright yellow hell
made to match the lemon scent aerosoled on only hours before.
When life gives you lemons, the only response is to hate the world
and to suffer through your yellow-coated misery.
Comments about this poem (Lemon by Cory Ruda )
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