Jiggle

I’ve gone decrepit,

furnished with pain.

Walls painted

with the vestiges

of my vices.

Peeling.

The carpets are old,

dirty,

faded and stained.

Frayed.

There are creaks

in the stairs,

and water leaks

in around the windows.

My toilet clogs,

runs,

but you

jiggle

my handle,

then soak

in my hairy tub.

You eat at my sticky table,

then lay in my

nasty sheets.