Its windows for its vision that scans you
Its shadows for its hand that feels you
Its doors for its mouth that relishes you
Its halls for its throat that swallows you
Its rooms for its stomach that digests you
Its basement for its toilet that discharges
you as its waste
A tasty consumption, as it disembowls
the elegant taste
This house is living, it watching you
Its structureed to be a peculiar construction
Furnished with wickedness for distruction
Bringing forth the guests eternal incarceration
Its squeaking interior sounds that belches you
Its creaking exterior shows approval of you
Its railins its teeth, the nails that bite you
Its attic for its mind, to figure out
how to exploit you
Its dungeon its stranglehold that enslaves you
Lurking among the shadows, creeping up on
its prey
Feeds upon the tresspassers whose gone astray
This house lives, it watches you
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem