Temperature On My Tongue

Wow. I am stuck in this cave, this box. I think I'm claustrophobic. No. ADD. ADHD? Energy? Snuffed out. Like that spiced cider candle I blew out last night. The walls, I think they are trying to tell me something. They are laughing at me. Torturing me because I am their prisoner. My brain: exhausted. Can't concentrate. The little box of motion pictures is making me drool, the chefs artistically and flawlessly handle exotic foods. Or maybe they only seem exotic because I am so far away from that perfectly decorated, white plate, laying before the judges. Who are they to judge. Not everyone has the same taste buds. Why are they called taste buds anyway? They are not my buds. I don't even know who they are or what they do. Do, do, do, do, do. Why is it always what you do? It's not what you do though. How you do it is what matters. Dyslexic. Seriously, it's entertaining at times. Crunch. Crack. Crunch. Cinnamon. Temperature crescendoing against my tongue. A piece slices into my tongue. Unexpected. Ouch. Zapping me back to the real world. Thanks a lot stupid mint.