you haunt me
as a ghost that will not leave haunted halls
you have never left me to my solitude
your voice echoes in my walls
I've likened myself to a haunted house many times
walls of cold flesh and blood
untouched for ages, maybe since time itself began
not haunted by ghosts, but by my own mind racing
a house whose shape changes to greet all intruders with churning stomach acids and gnashing teeth
if a house is haunted by a something, that something can jump out and yell "BOO!"
that something can be removed, like a tumour, torn right out of the flesh it resides in
but you cannot remove a house from itself
a house, haunting itself
but you,
you enter the impossible house
you have no fear of a sentient, abandoned house
you're eager to explore the house on ash tree lane
you run your hands against the every-shifting walls with glee
you are the eleanor vance to my hill house
how?
how does your heart stay strong within these walls?
these suffocating walls are black and leprous
they've sunken into themselves, deeper than themselves
how can you stay here? do you not see the mold?
i fear you may sink into my poison
but still, you are unafraid to walk through my halls
i could swallow you up
every room of mine a mouth
but you aren't scared of my sharp teeth
I've always been fascinated by houses abandoned,
houses that felt so alone in their silence that they grow eyes in their bitterness
but your presence here does beg a question
if the house can hate you,
if the house can scream at you and eat you and shift its own architecture just to torment you,
then,
can the house also love you?