Madwoman ©
So who is this madwoman, sitting close by?
She laughs and she smiles and she then starts to cry
And she shrieks and she wails and she schemes and she plots
And talks non-stop in circles and riddles and knots.
Where did she come from? I'm not really sure,
I've told her to leave now, I've shown her the door,
I've tried to ignore her, perhaps she'll just go,
But no, she's intent on staying just so.
Why don't I remember how first she arrived?
She's clever, and sneaky, and neatly contrived
To look just like everyone else that you meet
In the shop, in the park, or pass on the street.
And when was she first here? How long ago?
She's been here a long time, that much I know.
She made herself friendly, showed she could care
And lent a kind ear, my troubles to share.
So when did she change from giver to taker -
From carer and sharer to wrecker and breaker?
Over the years she's lost all her charm
And all that she speaks of is hate, spite and harm.
What does she want? She can't tell me that -
She lurking right now like a tightly wound cat
That's waiting to spring on its prey for the kill,
To hurt all around her, just for the thrill.
So what does she look like? A devil inside her -
A Medusa, a harpy or Black Widow Spider?
But closer inspection shows none of the three -
I look into a mirror ........ the madwoman's me.