The realtor said “full of charm
and potential” with a smile that had too many corners in it
Then the floorboards screamed
and bit my ankle in the time it took to get a minute in
The walls exhale black mold into the room I paid a deposit for
And the toilet has been hissing low-grade threats at me since I got here at the door
There’s a woman in the hallway dressed in what might once have been appropriate clothing
She’s muttering something that sounds
like Latin crossed with severe and personal loathing
The attic door swings open every night regardless of what I wedge against it
I think the house just ate my router — I can’t get a signal in it
Welcome home, you monumentally poor decision
You bought a haunted money pit without a prayer or system
You signed the deed in something reddish — let’s not think too hard on that
Now you’re married to the rot and the mold and the demon in the back
The basement hums with something that a healthy basement shouldn’t ever do
The oven shrieks whenever I approach with the confidence of someone coming through
I stopped trying to sleep — something in here counts my exhalations
And the ceiling drips something that defies reasonable categorizations
They said “charming fixer-upper” — yes, it’s charming in the way
That a furnace-heated heartbeat with a hunger for harm is charming in its way
The ghosts don’t scream — they just laugh at my floor plan
This house has a whole campaign against the living
Welcome home, you poor deluded fool — you signed on to this giving