A stain on your sleeve that doesn’t shift.
You think it gone,
Dissolved, until the light catches it; bleached and fixed forever.
A bruise that fades from the skin in time
But aches if you brush against it.
A silver thread stretching across your path, which makes you stumble when you think the road is clear.
True love sticks, shrinks to a tiny pool of nausea in your stomach, lurching thickly inside you.
True love is a bite, a scratch. An itch that leaves you bleeding and raw.
One recurring nightmare. A refrain at the back of your head.
An eternal migraine.