I'm a cat, not a mouse

There is a crazy lurking near me....
She has grown dark wings that match the ominous storm she's brewing. She's hunting me with words that intend to cut and bind me to her. Her mind has flown and she's left with bits of cheese for the mouse trap she sets even though there are no mice to be caught.
A musty, empty abode, she's shuffling through, pant cuffs dirty and worn, hands flick here then there directing her mental violence. Half finished remarks and lying truths make up the lines of the play she's written about me. The only actors are her, she and herself. She acts out each role and claims it's me who's concocted the plot, confessed to murder and organized the death of her happiness.
Sitting in my front row seat peeking through my fingers, unnerved and embarrassed for me, for her. I won't utter a word, I don't wake animals from violent dreams. I'm hearing the popping and snapping of sanity folding in on itself.