Beware of the man.
Beware of the man who owns the house.
The man, whose hands built these walls,
wants to bury you beneath my floor boards.
That’s what I would warn if I had a mouth.
But I am just a house.
Some have run.
They saw my doors creep open.
Or my windows slam closed.
Or heard my woman-like groans.
They escaped the “haunted house”
never knowing the real horror is the man.
But you stand still.
You blame my doors on the wind.
My windows on gravity.
My groans on age.
To you, I am just a house.
