Staring up at the ceiling
Where cobwebs dangle
Where spiders circle
Slowly dancing on their wires

Sitting on hard wooden floorboards
Legs open wide
Separated by
Cold glass bottles

Leaning into the shelves behind
In a dark
But otherwise dry room

Staring up at the ceiling
That remains so stable
While everything else
Crumbles away

Tear filled eyes
Drench an already
Sodden shirt

Marks of today’s pain
Joining yesterday’s stains
On a t-shirt
More purple than white

Sitting on the hard wooden floors,
Alone,
Sprits crumbling
In a long abandoned cellar

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This poem was inspired by a writing prompt from the “Storyteller’s Vault” Publication

Cellar
sodden | crumbling