He sits on the chair now broken,
He resides in the attic now taken.
His clothes have more holes than cloth,
His only companion is a sloth.
He is very quiet and reclusive
His mind is tired and elusive.
He sits and ponders about his life,
He sits and ponders about his strifes.
He can’t eat or drink or sleep or die,
He is a poltergeist, and that’s not a lie.