Her Madness

she loves to dance in bedlam to the beat the shadows throw in a gown of sequin macabre since her mind left home where webs of deceit hang from chandlers and madness is the party game blowing the horns of something's wrong in an eerie game of charades the cook that's in her kitchen bakes a don't dare go there souffle though she dips her fingers in it through out her darken days you may take the chance in joining her in dance on this the razors edge when all is said and the day has bled she pulls the sheets of madness up on her bed