Basement

Through the cellar door
The apple is bright red but distant in a jar
Of dust
Musty, tattered, the curtain flows
But the window is closed, a wind cannot
Enter here
Masochist I am now and I live in a dark
Inescapable
Place of destruction and painful memories
The fruit is poisoned
Too red and sweet for my tastes. Look at the 
Ash
It’s the only spice I know
A beetle stops by, dying in the
Hole
The color
Red
On its body, it tasted poison too