Haunted

Your house is a hotel for ghosts

A willing host for fear and doubt

Soaked in the grout and broad, arched boughs,

Moldy, load-bearing walls, and posts.

You've no windows to account for

And doors left ajar, to limbo;

Each shadowed by wraiths, akimbo,

Beyond swinging blades and false floors.

You're shallow and in too deep,

Steeping string in demon's tallow

As you keen forth beasts unhallowed

In basement gallows, where you sleep.

Sucked dry by your crawlspace leeches,

I'm too weak to exercise

The too-sweet stink of my demise,

Nor flies eggs, squeezed in my niches.

You're not all you're cracked up to be.

Honestly, your foundation's wack.

So, why do I keep coming back

To your lack of wholesome stories?

Long-gone, but I can't leave, baby,

'Cuz you're too strong to let go of me.