Your touch feels like the Grimm Reaper,
grabbing hold of a soul.
Like a wave shoving its watery hand
down someone's throat.
Like scraping an arm on a rusty swing set,
a thousand roaches scuttling in between toes,
ripping off a band-aid,
pricking a thumb, piercing an ear.

Your words are like a crocodile smiling.
Like a Gucci bag in Chinatown.
Like the nose of a plastic surgeon's daughter,
a plant made of foam,
a boy crying wolf,
a Siren's song, an acrylic eyelash.

Your presence is like a curdled carton of milk.
Like an opera singer with a nasty cold.
Like dirt that just won't leave your eye,
a root canal on Christmas Day,
hair being pulled, stubbing a toe,
like the stench that I smell when you enter the room.