#cellar
Lock my heart away
With your Skeleton's Key,
Throw it in thine CELLAR;
And may it rest at peace
Lock my soul away
In this dungeon we call home
For I never wish to leave
Our betrothal's Cellar
Aug 13, 2025
Aug 13, 2025 at 7:09 PM UTC
When I roll my tongue--
Cellar door,
Cellar door,
Cellar door.
Feb 5, 2020
Feb 5, 2020 at 1:13 PM UTC
Submerged
In a world of music
And images
In her mind
She sleepwalked
Through life
Watering the roses
With her blood
Looking through
The mirrors
The cellar dwellers
Waited for her
To be one of their own…
Apr 16, 2019
Apr 16, 2019 at 5:32 AM UTC
Porcelain Spider Under the Cellar Door
She sees a person as spool of yarn,
Taking your lifeline and threading it through her own needle,
Round and round you spin as she turns you into something to adorn,
Such an excellent seamstress the mindful spider is,
Sowing painted backless dresses to give the illusion of a spine,
Missing fragmented fractions of her web, she’s blind,
Stark, stacked illusions of what lies beyond a cellar door,
In the inner shadows of the light,
She fears no height, though bore in darkness,
Leg and fang she fought,
Fighting for frail frivolity of position and pose,
******* parts of souls in her aesthetic but potent web,
Missing lines, lanes, but layered intricately allowing illusion of a periled princess,
On her painted round **** a red hourglass turns to eyes,
Dancing with half dead perspective “insects” assigning value,
Whispering lies,
Clinging to, now, a somewhat familiar light,
Never letting her eyes adjust she refuses to rise,
Periled perfection is her guise,
Hiding in the cracks of the steps and floor,
Content under the rusty bolted hinges of a cellar door,
She never has enough, even at the edge,
The rough taciturn of her mind is never set,
Keeping half dead insects, so long in her web,
Sometimes they expire,
Other times they break and breach her bountiful cacoon,
Falling into the abyss laying underneath that cellar door,
Some recover,
Some feel new found darkness never felt before,
She slides and falls frailly when situations slip from sight,
Using partially passed insects to patch her ornamental paint and aesthetic might,
Having brushed layers of color with their guts,
Shriveled, they fall away from her web,
Her web a half living, half dead farm
And she wails at their loss,
While spinning,
Another web..
She see a person as a spool of yarn...
Mar 30, 2019
Mar 30, 2019 at 5:54 PM UTC
Faithful buds you poke your heads out green
Leaves unfold round petals’ silky sheen
Sunlight draws you from your cellar rest
Dry-dirt roots seek water to ingest
Gift of romance, jewel of child’s crown
Found and owned, your beauty not your own
Perfect picture, ruined out of love
Plucked from home you flourish long for none
Dec 16, 2018
Dec 16, 2018 at 12:45 PM UTC
i am behind
your back
you are back
here
meet all my new lovers
he hurt me with his words
my ******* got hard
we pinched
my
right
******
with my
left hand
took razor
blade
cut
an
piece
this pain
is
differen
makes my whole beast hurt
what has he done to me
we close our eyes
it
was
just
an
dream
kind
of
confusing
how blood smears
i
am
alway
losing
after
say
ing
hello dear
?
...
..
.
Feb 13, 2018
Feb 13, 2018 at 6:50 AM UTC
Must is a memory of the cellar.
My grandfather would sleep down there when they spent the night.
Me, not really keeping him company,
just being uncomfortably in the same space.
The plastered walls floated a talc-y powder that would linger
in my throat
And on my tongue.
Later when he was dying,
the discomfort still remained,
but subsided as he grew weak
in that big loud frame of his.
May 5, 2015
May 5, 2015 at 9:42 PM UTC
I want the sun on my face, I want the wind in my hair.
I want to be free to be seen, in air sunny and clean so the world cries out: where have you been all my life?
I want the rain on my skin, I want the sand in my toes.
I want to be out and about, hear my kids laugh and shout ‘til the world cries out: where have you been all your life?
Empty streets, bustling bars, quiet rooftops, beeping cars. Big hearts, rosy faces, warming smiles in public places. Silent library, noisy playgroup, vendors scream out the latest news scoop.
“girl locked in cellar for 24 years” Dad wears the cuffs. Mum cries the tears. Concentrate on my thoughts so my feeling’s diminished. Back in the real world, I realise he’s finished.
I want the sun on my face, I want the wind in my hair.
Apr 30, 2015
Apr 30, 2015 at 5:07 AM UTC
*I may not be yours
But you will always be mine
In my mind
My fetish you
Like stowed in the cellar
An ageold bottle of wine*
Bharti
Apr 10, 2015
Apr 10, 2015 at 6:27 AM UTC
Growling, snarling, rumbling through
The roots and tunnels leading
Upward
Threat signals smeared along
My lower back, the backs of my knees, my jaw, my tongue
My throat
Run, backwards and forwards or up and out or down and stop.
Let me stop gripping and straining and
Gnawing where the bone does not
Protect.
A small creature only wishes to
Grow.
Mar 31, 2015
Mar 31, 2015 at 9:01 PM UTC
You must be my cellar door
Beautiful in sounding
Still, common in meaning
You may rewrite yourself
An abstract "Selladore",
But you'll never change
I've learned this at long last
And I'll write for you nevermore
Jul 31, 2014
Jul 31, 2014 at 4:15 AM UTC