The Apple of Guilt

You've been sitting in my fruit bowl for more than a week
Your brooding, bruising presence leering out at me from within the glassy confines
You mock me for not making my five a day (heck, five a week!) target
You speak with my mother's voice and frown with Dr X's displeasure
I don't want you. I want the dark chocolate hobnobs.
I want to compost you. I will compost you.
I lift up the lid slowly but then close it in a rush. It's too soon to tip you in there...
The banana of guilt is still lurking there from two weeks ago.
I can sense it's slithery tentacles trying to lift the lid. The horror!!
You go back in the fruit bowl. I turn you over to hide your bruises.
If I am lucky Dr X will pick you up by mistake.
Thank you for making my life a misery, o apple of guilt.