I hate her.
Character flaws rust her soul from within until
she dreads, like a flea fears water, human contact
lest she collapse into a grainy pile of metallic dust.
Stubbornly, she attempts every feasible maneuver
to escape the quicksand which bogs her down
until her arms are covered and she cannot
accept the offered aide of the stranger's hand.
Still, she offers to be everyone's mainstay, despite
the cracks which appear due to the weight of
the trials and tribulations from the life she herself leads.
Even when starving, she bites the hand which feeds,
growling if offered a gently caress to soothe loneliness.
And, always, she waits patiently after I flee her,
knowing that eventually I must crawl back,
as a shadow lingering for the ray of light
which will make it reappear, to say "You can't escape me."
After all, common sense says that only death
is capable of saving you from yourself.
I hate her... me.