The Ghost of Section 8 Housing

My marrow was silenced by the chatter of fleas 

I am putting the dead in rooms they don't belong in 

Scratching the splints of bone divets 

Shaking thoughts of my devil's whispering 

My eyes peel the paint, 

I taste the lead by sight, 

This mind a haunting bastard 

Lit under a dimming light. 

Nailed boards have breached perception 

Grose phantoms have moven in, 

An old boarded house condemned by doubt, 

Occupied by squatting spirits. 

Oh, what penury could be paid, 

To send away these shrouds? 

What impenitent pence pulled from wallet 

Could resend them from this house?