In the house 

Had this couch. 

It was old and tattered 

Never wanted to get clean. 

​

It smelled 

With an odor 

That would sting everyone's nose 

No scent could relieve it. 

​

It ruined everything 

Nothing looked good in the house, 

When the couch was around 

Everyone hated it. 

​

Then, one day, 

Its influence expanded, 

Like a malevolent force 

It began to spread. 

​

First, it tainted the carpet, 

Absorbing its essence, 

Leaving behind stains 

That refused to fade. 

​

Next, it infected the curtains, 

Draping them with its foul touch, 

Turning vibrant fabrics 

Into dreary shadows. 

​

The coffee table succumbed, 

Its surface marred and scarred, 

No longer a centerpiece, 

But a victim of the couch's curse. 

​

Even the walls weren't spared, 

As the stench seeped into the paint,

Leaving behind a lingering reminder 

Of the couch's presence.