The Madness in May

In his will, Three dwellings within a state of disarray, Occupied by a tragedy
Of no name. 

To say that these three structures bear the weight of wind and rain would be insane, for they hold dark secrets, only  revealed within the month of May.

May, when wasps swarm through swaying trees and branches tip and tap upon the rotting window frames, thirty one days he lives, within these dwellings of disruptive display. 

Books with little letters, carved out chapters hiding his victims finger nails, trails of past May's blood and scattered males torment the covert brambles of the surrounding wood. 

They ache and arc, encompassed by an invasive lens of his suspicious heart, 
This place were many a man have died
And born to souls that weep and cry. 

Finally 

June appears upon a blackened sky, his lie to hide for one more year, his lie, soon to be mine. Must I adopt this horror shop, this land that love had forgot, can I escape my father's hate, the hate he built in God's forsake. 

I am troubled by his take, my nostrils, clogged with the scent of his mistake, I must engulf this place in July's embrace, when aged wood and tinder gather around this forgotten place. 

I hope that no human finds this scorched land, no male, no man to once again be damned, I pray that December finds it well and smothers the screaming embers in eternal snow swell.