A Dance of Nightmares

She had the artistry of a mortician
Adorned in elegance and cigarette decor
Often cooing malevolent lullabies
Under the renaissance of a crescent moon
As she dissected morphine butterflies
And crafted devious silks from wings

She would often dance in homemade tattered skirts
Portraying her opium dreams of misery
With the shattered sway of crippled ballerinas
Yet her  grace was mocked with tribulation
Beseeching enigma syllables for guidance
As the mantra owls flocked in hushed envy

Until, that is, her steps would lose the trance
And reality whispered faintly in her ears
That wings where meant to deteriorate
And the whimsical beauty was only a fragile torment
Of a conscious howling for release
For it seems her innocence was devoured by scars