The basement air is colder than the rest of the house.
No one from the party follows.
The steps creak under my weight.
Something sweet rots below.
***
No more of The Black Dahlia,
Her sepals have left me
Now, all that's left is her hypocrisy.
The cadaver dance is no more,
The steps don't even mourn.
.
Sadly, her new friend is not satisfied,
That her hunger cannot be appetized,
This purgatory is where my mother shall lay,
There are no safe bets in this play.
.
She cannot dim the stars that swirl
So she welcomes me to her world.
Darkness, stillness, and her own distress
All alone as the Princess makes mother her pet.
.
Dahlia's soul is trapped amongst a white poster board room,
Mouth widened and body attuned,
Eyes are bulging and huge
Catatonic is her tune.
She is spellbound
Along a canary of greyhounds.
.
The cadavers open their caskets,
and hold yellow flower petal baskets
Which show that Dahlia is their next fruit to be
From the Apple tree.
.
Dahlia is her next fruit to be,
Borderline Seed's tune
And Jezebel's fume,
Their lovely, decayed apple
That they will consume.