Cellar

Photo by Nathan Wright on Unsplash

I hated the sound that door made.

Close it fast, close it slow,

The sound was all the same.

This was its signal, warning not to proceed.

I’m not scared-

Done this times before.

To where? I can’t remember,

Yet, the hand holding mine

is a hand I’ve held before.

Cement steps leading to darkness,

Felt warm and so loving,

It felt a bit like coming home.

This is all I remember,

It’s here I would wake-

Silence awoke me-

My feet now wet and cold,

My hand no longer recognize the hand it holds.

As if it felt the moment

I realized I’m in danger,

The hand then disappeared,

And I was left alone.