Her Own Bed

Angry thoughts may fill my head
And my eyes glow a firey red
As I ponder all she's said
To force insanity's fire fed
Without a simple feeling of dread
Or slight notion of this hatred
Playing dumb, conscience dead?
Not afraid of what's ahead?
Heeding nothing that can be read?
And suddenly this calm will shed--
    Into a chaotic spread--
She'd better remember she made her own bed.