I’ve got house guests from hell that’s what they are
but they’re not guests at all that’s what’s bazaar.
I should be the queen of my castle or even the czar
yet I rather escape from them and go somewhere far.
Who knows what keeps me here, it’s really not them
cause if my family were a flower, I’d be the stem,
growing from my parents and supporting their gem,
then I’m mowed down and spit out like lawn mower phlegm.
Never invited to stay yet they insist,
when that ‘taker’ gene was passed out I was missed.
No’s not an answer they don’t get the gist
I almost prefer to slit my own wrist.
Now the house it is old I’ll give them that
it wasn’t ready for the house pest combat.
If it could fight back it would lay them out flat
or just squash them like the bugs they are, SPLAT!
The windows are broken and so are the doors
from running in and out, drama and wars.
There’s all this hostility that leaks from my pores
and I almost think it’s what stained all my floors.
The electrical is failing so the lights just don’t work
which only makes it easier for the gremlins to lurk.
I could kill them off and claim that I’ve gone berserk
I just need to practice on my serial killer smirk.
There’s no appreciation although they disagree
yet I feel it should be scrolling in lights on a marquee.
Instead I get a house full of chaos and debris
and this weird desire for a Menards shopping spree.