Mind of My Own

It's the House of Many Ways,

and the way of none.

Welcome, guest; please enter here.

The floorboards creak and groan in anticipation of your arrival

And there's a suspicion of musty pestilence that languishes about the place.

Perhaps it is worth visiting for your own amusement,

But there isn't much left to see.

The last tenants moved out  at the first opportunity.

A  step inwards, several mice and vermin scamper away.

Apologies, sir or madam; even they can't behave.

Webs dangle in your head, there's a stink of disuse.

Windows are bolted shut, and smothered in old refuse.

Beyond its abandonment, much can be said of the house's own disposition;

Such an abode as to be invested in its own destruction.

Every breath will be a reminder of death and decay.

Well, sweet visitor, would you like to stay?

The End

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