Cherry Cola

by Aaron Blair

My mother's womb was a sarcophagus.
This is the afterlife.
Every star above me is a pinprick
in the black cloth draped over my head,
a beautiful, elaborate farce.
My lungs don't work anymore,
but they don't need to.
My blood is as carbonated as cherry cola,
tastes just as bitter and sweet.
But this poetry preserves my body,
stitches the wounds with words.
It will give reason to my improbable existence.
The oxygen I can't breathe will turn my skin into gold.


Author's Note: https://i.imgur.com/RZ3tn.jpg

Posted on 11/03/2015
Copyright © 2023 Aaron Blair

Member Comments on this Poem
Posted by Philip F De Pinto on 11/03/15 at 12:28 PM

lovely in every way.

Posted by Dane Campbell on 11/05/15 at 09:38 AM


Posted by Rob Littler on 11/18/15 at 10:53 PM

I will give reason to my improbable existence

LOVE, that!

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