Existential Cherries

by Archita Mittra


the cherries are not in season, love; they are not
bloody enough to suit your suicidal temperament.
the colour of a demented sunset, they are indecisive,
supreme in their sense of ugliness, some already
corrupted, with grey and black scabs sprouting all over,
like the many eyes of a monster; some faded, like ancient
drama queens, with remnants of high school freckles,
like red smoke-rings traced on their paling bodies.
yet in that unwholesome puddle, there are those
that still bleed deep crimson, beautiful in a twisted way
in their lush darkness and the others turn away, yellowed
in anguish. most of them are the in-betweens, resembling
neither the orange of a fiery tangerine, nor the carmine of
the first menstrual stain; nor are they the lemon of citrus-y
wet dreams. caught in their identity crises, some are like
the poisonous berries of the dark forests from your childhood;
some already obese and deadly and may have one day been
snow white’s cursed apple. under-formed, deformed
and mutated, these existential cherries are never what they are
(like you, love are never the person you are)
awaiting patiently, all the while, to be skinned to their peached
skulls, even as you, love, imagine yourself to be someone else,
and them to be another something else, pregnant with your despair,
frozen droplets of antiquated blood, tainting a white soulless floor.

Author Biography: Archita Mittra is a freelance writer, artist and designer based in Calcutta, India with a love for all things imaginary vintage and the fantastical. A first year student of English at Jadavpur University, she’s also pursuing a diploma in Multimedia and Animation from St.Xavier’s College.You can read more of her work at https://ivyonthetrellis.wordpress.com and contact her at archita.666@gmail.com