Jam

What started out as a few specks has become a steady trickle, which alarms me. I’ve become convinced I’m haemorrhaging.  As I shift on my chair I feel another flood. In the bathroom I check. A colony of clots is growing before my eyes on my stained panties. Briefly, before I pass out and hit my head on the toilet (which will later score me six staples and a ct head) I wonder what it would taste like. It looks like It’d taste really good, like my mother’s cherry jam.  Really should have had that pap smear.