She’s my migraine

See how she shudders

As the linoleum ripples

With every flourish of pain

She’s the noxious lovely

Cloud of perfume buoyed

On a candle’s breath

Scorching my throat closed

She’s the protestations of

My poor floor under her boots

Their angry hollow click like

The hammering of my heart

She’s the stray hairs

Of sugar spun fairy floss

That have wound into the

Weave of everything I’ve worn

She’s rotten fruit forgotten

Overripe and abandoned

For another trip that left

Me here to clean the grout

She’s the shut-in sadness

Dead little dust mites that

Never had the chance to

Dance in her hoarded sunlight

She’s a panic attack

And my cool coiled dread

That twisted itself into

Soaking in sullen loathing

She’s my mundane hatred

Of all I’ve come to be and

Defiantly yet I bask in all

That separates she from me