f-e-celler

[f-e-celler]

i’ve fallen victim to haunted houses and cracked windows and peeling paint and things that live where they do not belong.

things that stay in one place too long.

the light under the door is always there. i wonder if thats the light everyone is always talking about, you know the one. i dream about it mostly, i can only find my way back to it if i’m lucky, and, my friend, i’m not that lucky.

i feel called to places that don’t belong to me, and i want to live in them, but not forever. i never want to stay in one place too long(it’s complicated). my therapist would say that’s a control-based issue i need to work out, but i’ll get there eventually. when i want to. when i feel like it. one day i will find it. one day i will reach the door.

i can feel it buzzing, in my mind somewhere.

humming low, always reminding me it’s there. as if it’s taunting me.

#this is short #but i’m..still here #poetry #prose #free verse #free verse poetry

[f-e-celler]

feeling very conflicted about poem prompts. on one hand, it’d be nice to have some sort of idea going into writing something, on the other…writing whatever shit pops into my brain feels like such a big fuck you to the other hand/rules, so, you know.

#i’m here just thinking about writing #i did notice i got a few more followers recently so hello theere!! #i don’t get many questions but if you guys have any. i’m here #celler speaks

[f-e-celler]

silly ol' me thinking tumblr wouldn't make blazing of a post so obvious

#motherfuckers i wanted to be sneaky about it! #the hell of seeing a misspelling and not being able to fix it.. #also #should've done one of the older ones #next time #i'll pick a good one though i promise #celler speaks

[f-e-celler]

the wolves will come for you, they tell me and i smile at them with glistening teeth for they do not know what a small comfort that is. the wolves will always come for me, it is a constant. they always have. i've gone through this before. (what, i'm not meat? wolves aren't vegan now, right?)

they will tear you apart, they will rip the flesh from your bones and then break them in their jaws. snap. like a dead branch. what you're saying is i'm an old piece of bark that will burn by their bite. i know what you're saying.

but i also know this: that my bones will splinter into their soft palate and in their esophagus and i will have left a painful reminder of myself that will only lodge deeper over time. they will kill me but i will take them with me.

my aftermath is infection. it is a fever and then madness and then death. that will be the only peace in those few minutes that it takes for them to rip me apart, knowing it's inevitable that i'll get back at them eventually with more agony they've caused me. or, at least, i will be a splinter in their throat the rest of their lives; one or the other, it doesn't matter. they stole my life from me and i will haunt them until theirs ends. this is how it ends.

#free verse #poetry #writing #prose #spilled ink #spilled words #damn i know i've written about wolves before.. #i don't remember it but the other one was better #this could be better #may edit it later on #god i've used that tag before fuck me #particularly not a fan of the 'burn by their bite' but whatever

[f-e-celler]

un péché ou une folie à deux.

they say not to blame yourself for not knowing something before you learn it. naivety is its own bliss that allows you to live in a dream, the curtain over your eyes, the sheath over the blade.

but what happens when you have to wake up; when you're ripped from your dream into a waking nightmare?

you've drawn the blade and shredded the curtain before my eyes revealing my sin as what it is, what it really was all along.

eyes. eyes, this whole thing is about them. those stupid little round things in our skulls. yours find mine, mine find yours, over and over again and neither of us knows who’s looking first at this point but that doesn’t matter. as long as i’m looking. as long as you're looking. are you seeing me? are you really seeing me? what are you seeing? what the fuck do you see?

i shouldn’t have let it get this far, i should have stopped it long before it got to this. but i didn’t, because i’m selfish, and so are you. this whole thing goes both ways.

how can i stop you from looking, anyway? last i checked it wasn't the one who is seen's job to pluck out the eyes of the see-er. i would, though, if you pluck out mine as well (reminder: we're both guilty here, but you are more-so than i. at least that is something.)

#free verse #poetry #writing #prose #spilled ink #spilled words #hello i've risen from the grave once again only to say fuck this (place. life. this what-have-you.) #this is mediocer at best

[f-e-celler]

synonym for something.

oh to lose what you don’t know you lost.

what was it..?

you’ll just know it’s missing, but (if you’re lucky) you’ll never know what. but then if you do figure it out, it’s not enough, and it’s too much.

no, it’s not enough to have lost something but to have to find what it was, to go through the process all over again.

to dig up the body and bury it.

a second funereal.

a private interment between you and that of which you’ve lost. memories are similar to that, only in this case it’s more like said body just falls out of thin air in front of you, splayed on the ground, the grief hits you like a truck but you also have to find somewhere to bury it. it can’t be here in the supermarket, or there on the side of the road.

these funerals are inconvenient at worst, but what can you do but lay them to rest. i’ve dug a thousand graves in my lifetime and i’m sure there’ll be more, but i’m getting tired of loss.

i’m getting tired of dead things and things that have long since decayed. i’m tired of burying idols of things i’m not responsible for. that i shouldn’t be responsible for. and of having to bury them alone.

i envy people who don’t care as much as me so often i can sometimes trick myself into believing i don’t, but then it happens and i always have to find the right shovel to use, and the appropriate flowers to lay when i’m done.

#free verse #poetry #writing #prose #spilled ink #spilled words #there are probably errors in here but i’ll find them in a month or so #i’m not sure i like this one much but hello june it’s been awhile

[f-e-celler]

i offer you my hands and you say you do not want them. that you wouldn’t know where to keep them, and utter something about the back corner of your closet.

i offer you my heart, and you say no, it’s too much.

and you don’t mean it in a way that cares about the fact that i’m willing to give you something so sacred. you don’t want it because you mean it carries too much. it always has and always will. i don’t want any part of you, i do not want to look at it and be reminded of you.

so instead i give you my emptiness. my shame, my countless sleepless nights and all the great lakes worth of hope i always had in you. i give you these things to be kept in the same part of your brain that used to shut my body down and render it uncontrollable when i was reminded of you.

i think what you mean is, i don’t want you as anything else, why would i want you as a burden? what you mean is, i don’t want to feel any guilt for the pain i’ve caused you.

i give you the fact that i am able to move on from you. that you are replaceable, and that i will forget about you, over time.

you gave me my curse years ago, and now it is yours. i am finally free of it.

#free verse #poetry #writing #spilled ink #spilled words #this however i wrote last night #i’m on the fence about it but i like it some #ps: no one was actually cursed pre or post written #or during hopefully. i’m not that powerful. #anyway we’ll see how/if this mindset holds up #this time #reading it does feel freeing though i will say.. #may edit it later on #*

[f-e-celler]

mein körper war eine schattenbox und du zerschmettertest das glas innen ich.

if there was one place you could break into and rob without anyone ever knowing, where would it be, i’d asked you but i never got my answer. you put the crowbar in the trunk.

you keep the knife tucked in the inside of your jacket and say, it’s just in case.

you drive and light one up, we get to the parking lot and you laugh as you get out and stumble. we get in, get some of the jewels and all the solid gold chains and we leave.

you’re driving and say, oh one more stop. real quick. this will answer your question.

you stop at a old house and go inside, crowbar in hand. i wait for you but you never come out, so i go in, worried about you. i should have been more worried. more wary. i didn’t see it coming, but i should have.

three days later i wake up, my head feeling like a bomb about to go off. my hands bound in gold chains.

there’s an ache in my chest, and at first i figure oh, the pain of betrayal, but i look down and i see the knife. the handle lodged in the space between my ribcage, and i laugh.

i finally get it. this was it, this was your answer.

#free verse #poetry #writing #prose #spilled ink #spilled words #‘21 #happy new year a few months late #i’m not a fan of this but #this was a draft also. so :/ probably why #the title i do love #maybe i’ll scrap everything but that and recycle someday

[f-e-celler]

10.4.20

#photography #‘20

[f-e-celler]

i’m not a doctor but i have a phd in seeing through people, and in my professional opinion, you’re full of shit.

you knew. you knew what it was that was coming. you always do, even if you think you don’t.

you can run for miles and get around destroyed churches in less time than it takes to say a prayer, but that doesn’t stand out much when you trip over an old photograph, a letter crumpled into a ball on the ground and you fall face-first into the dirt.

clean yourself up, you’re a mess, they say.

yeah, well who’s gonna pay for it all? not you. not them. takes a lot more than tapping some buttons on a screen and writing words that you don’t really mean. that never really fixes anything, it’s just like sticking a bandaid on a broken leg.

like anyone else is doing any better, either. you’re all lying to yourselves, and all the shit you’ve buried beneath your foundation of fake smiles and the forty-seven self-help books you own is going to explode one day like a volcano. all over your house, your town; everyone will see it. but if it goes to your brain first, well, that’s what’ll really ruin everyones day. month. “how’d he die?” “oh, his head just exploded.”

let’s face it, nobody wants to clean that up.

but if you’re honest with yourself, let it go when it starts, no one minds as much, it makes you more genuine. more real. (i’m as real as it gets, baby, but don’t take everything so seriously.) know where your head is, keep it there.

that way you won’t get disappointed, and neither will anyone else.

#free verse #poetry #writing #prose #spilled ink #spilled words #‘20 #i feel like this is really bad but i wrote it at 6:30am after being up all night so #what can i say #may edit it later on

[f-e-celler]

Hi! Have you thought about putting a book together? Your poetry is sooo good.

hello! i have thought about it on and off, i’d love to have a poetry slash photography book published someday, but who knows. i need to write more, and scrutinize every word i’ve ever written about...three hundred times over before i’ll be satisfied with anything. thank you, you have a unique taste in words xx.

#ask

[f-e-celler]

your love is easy. it’s carefree and pure.

my love is messy. a tangled web clinging to the figure of an idea. always all-consuming, but never consuming the right thing.

maybe i’m not doing it right.

tell me how you do it.

tell me how to feel.

this feels like another false positive, like the gun filled with old confetti i keep in the dresser drawer until i finally know i’m ready to pull the trigger, but when i do nothing happens.

there’s no hole in the ceiling. just an ugly mess that’s going to take forever to clean up.

i’m not calling you a liar, but your l o v e is looking more unrealistic by the hour.

#free verse #poetry #writing #prose #spilled words #spilled ink #‘20 #may edit it later on

[f-e-celler]

9.7.20

#photography #‘20

[f-e-celler]

ps: ask your friends before you go ripping their hearts out.

birds fly into my windows and fall to the ground, heads twisted to the side.

you know.

                we know what happened,

     they don’t.

i don’t know if they’re a metaphor for you, or for me, or if it even means anything at all. maybe the weather is just too overcast. maybe the sky fell too close to the ground this time.

i steal a shovel from the empty lot next door and bury them while you stand at the end of my driveway to watch. i bury three, the rest disappear and leave blood and feathers behind. i reach the porch step as you start collecting them.

there’s a lapse in memory, a pitch-black void between then and when i get back in the house. i hear a thud against the window. it’s not a bird, it’s heavier than a bird. something feels different. feathers have been stuffed down my throat.

a lot of things feel missing. the company next door. my favorite shirt. you.

oh, that wasn’t what i was supposed to say. forget i ever said that (and meant it).

i feel missing. i’m missing something. what is it?

you’re standing a few feet from the house. there lies a pile of sludge in the grass next to you, red, and dark. a bird hits the window, and then flies away.

oh, you should’ve told me you were volunteering to decorate my house for halloween! how sweet. you need some pumpkins with all those guts?

#free verse #poetry #prose #writing #spilled words #spilled ink #‘20 #edited and added some stuff #i like it a little more now

[f-e-celler]

it starts like this.

you get sick of me. you get sick of yourself. then you get sick of everything else. you get angry, you get sad, then you can’t get out of bed.

it adds up, see. makes sense. if only you could make some sense out of yourself.

you ignore the sunrises and you ignore the morning doves perched on the telephone wires, but there are no morning doves. there are no wires but the ones wrapped around your throat. you’re dreaming. but you’re awake.

the crickets have all died and the dull hum goes on forever between your ears, makes everything else even more wearisome. it’s all boring.

it’s a set, low pitched ringing and the whole world is just going along with it, and you just want it to end. something to snap you out of it, or snap everything else out of it.

it’s all nothing. you are nothing. you’re dreaming. no, you’re awake. it’s a dream where you‘re awake and you can’t be bothered to try.

#free verse #poetry #writing #prose #spilled words #spilled ink #‘20

[f-e-celler]

#photography #‘20

[f-e-celler]

fill in the _____.

choose whatever you put in the gun carefully.

two crucifix shaped bullets.(one for each wrist. tell me this sounds familiar.) 

justifiability, be it reasonable or not. it usually is if you’ve already made up your mind.

the stained glass shatters in from the windows when you shove me onto the broken marble floor. the glass sticks to my skin like freckles from a crystallized rainbow. am i pretty now? is this good enough?

the answer is always no. you use the bigger pieces to cut away the wings, just two. leave the rest, who needs eight wings anyway, right? 

the angels looking down upon us hold their voices tightly between their teeth and watch with intrigue, the unfolding scene of dismemberment of one of their own, but also a fraud. just barely blasphemous.

you drag them out into the graveyard, and i crawl behind you. you bury my wings side by side and tell me your love dies here(it goes either way). then, you spit on the grave you created.

i dig them up early sunday morning but there’s nothing in the grave but dirt. the angels finally cry with me.

#free verse #poetry #prose #writing #spilled words #spilled ink #‘20 #sigh #i do like the beginning lines #this took like two weeks