I am a torso,
With the heart exposed.
Given a single morsel,
That shrieks and floats.

"This place is dark, "
Says my flying eye.
"Did My head go to the park? "
Responded I.

The woodgrain tables,
Coated in dust.
Homestead cables,
Plagued in rust.

The ghosts are sick,
And cannot move.
The air is thick,
Within each room.

No one lived here for years,
No windows in it's place.
The home sat empty with fear,
As apparitions pace.

Screams echo through the night,
As the front sorry creaks.
The brave cry with fright,
As the walls speak.

The boards rot away,
The clocks all stopped.
The curtains away,
Occasionally a head pops.

I roll into my place of death,
In hopes yo find my skull.
I got myself into this mess,
As I couldn't pay the toll.

Carpet Diem.