In my house

There are many rooms in my house.
Most of them open for all to see.
Some of them decorated brightly,
Full of joy and fancy free.

Adjacent rooms, somber and dull,
Are studies for serious thinking.
With libraries filled with catalogs
And sounds of papers crinkling.

There are some rooms that move and shift.
They tilt, and turn, and lie.
Purfumed in all the sweetest scents
To hide the sour of their dispise.

But there is one room in this house
Lodged discreetly ‘neath the cellar deep.
Fashioned so there are no windows nor doors
‘lest its contents would seep.

Crittery, slithery things
Covered in spines and twine and teeth and hair
With grabby hands they craft subtle plans
Pregnant with despair.

Their voices carry through the vents
And are heard throughout the house
They sit in wait with baited breath
Begging to be let out.