I Don’t Think it was the Cherries

by Ciara Ogden

I must have indulged on some deep red cherries
today.

There is crimson juice on my palms, in my eyes,
between my wrists and on the knife.
Every blink brings a burning sensation
and it screams out that repression isn’t the
answer!

I know, I know, and one day these cherries will
leave stains so everyone can see that I’m a fraud,
I’m a fraud, I’m an absolute fucking fraud.

The dyspepsia will overtake me and pyrosis will
settle in as my heart vomits truth too quick for me
to clean up and I will invoke fear with my putrid
mess, scaring away everyone like the
emetophobes I had thought them to be.

Except, the only emetophobe I know is me.