you live in a house in the woods. you eat in it, shit in it, wash in it, fuck in it. the smell is overwhelming. nobody cleans, not here. it’s futile, cleaning this house - mould grows up these walls faster than piss streaming down a dogs leg.
something is wrong with this house. there is something wrong here, with this place. fruit rots faster here, angry dogs sit on your porch. strays, you think. but they don’t bark or growl. big, black dogs. sitting, watching.
the aching beams sway under the weight of the wind, maggot and woodworm infested. it creaks and moans, sicks and is sick. the smell worsens. you dont fuck here anymore, don't eat.
something wrong with this place, you think.