The bedlam of the bedlam

A young man astride a rocking horse. his petticoats bristling. his eyes closed with pleasure enjoying the euphony of his fork scraping his plate.
facing him sits a filthy oldie shaking his dentures like castanets. whistling through his nostrils, giggling with tears in his eyes.
the clattering of my teeth. sometimes a coff, sometimes an achoo.
heard a cry for help, but didn't pay attention. thought it was only myself as usual - the beldam of the bedlam.
a toothless hag moving eyeball-beads in an abacus. they stare so, they stare so on her rope of pearls: a row of lilliputian skulls on a string.
the oldie chants the alphabet in an order he has fixed himself. once he strode down the aisle with a wedding gown on an arm's length.
his bride-not-to-be (anymore) in the soil right outside.
the youngster tells about how he once lay in a bathtub barely conscious in rusty-bloody-red water.
the bathtub tiptoed on lionpaws to the landing, tipped over and flung him down the stairs on a rusty-bloody-red runner.
i'd like to tell them about a dragon with hiccups. hiccuping fire in headwind, burning itself. but i'd better not...