I do not love you at all.

You're nothing more than a nuisance, a wound
that does not scab for days, stinging
and scarring - the excess ink smudging
my palm, grey scuff on white plaster.

You are no thorn in my side, merely
the splinter snapped at the skin after
several failed attempts of removal.

Loose thread, forgotten lyric, dripping tap,
incessant beeping, flickering fluorescent light
on a dim, graffitied train, spray painted
in "*******"'s, typo on the final draft.

I don't love you, never loved you at all.