Jiggle
I’ve gone decrepit,
furnished with pain.
Walls painted
with the vestiges
of my vices.
Peeling.
The carpets are old,
dirty,
faded and stained.
Frayed.
There are creaks
in the stairs,
and water leaks
in around the windows.
My toilet clogs,
runs,
but you
jiggle
my handle,
then soak
in my hairy tub.
You eat at my sticky table,
then lay in my
nasty sheets.
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