Just Like Her

It’s what she carries with her.
The instant her presence enters,
My spirit is swept up in darkness
My inner peace is smeared in crimson glory,
And my heart prickles in automatic defense.
Anger is flowing through my veins of confusion,
And mirrors what she carries.
She hurts.
Everything she carries is what I feel now
Swirling and curdling inside me.
Her anger and her selfishness float around her like flies to rotten milk
And warp their warped arms around me like hate-ridden smog.
I push and pull, trying to escape her self righteous walk,
That crushes the seeds lying beneath her high-heeled weapon. 
The aura of chaos, of hell, of misconceptions and lies spread their wings and take
Rapid, erratic flight and suck the imagination into a whirlpool of lost.
It’s what she carries with her
That I can’t stand.
The burdens, the lies, the jealousies, the insanities.
I must leave her presence or burn in past passionate grudges.
She paints a beautiful scene of love. But buries her own.
She carries no emotion.
She manipulates her world. She sees what she sees.
But she is blind.
Behind my mask, my aluminum curtain, I cry.
She cries.
I feel her sadness, because anger is only a mask.
Her iron curtain she refuses to draw.
She is crippled by hate.
And so am I.