(I certainly wouldn’t want to offend you)

 your name in my mouth tastes bad
(like bile
and regret)
and your hand on my shoulder stings
like a slap in the face
(and I’ve enough experience with all these
to understand
exactly
what I am comparing you to)
and, no
I am not being dramatic.

If I were, I’d tell you that
even your kindness
is saccharine,
a cancer
that invades my brain
and makes me think things
and feel things
that I am too smart to think and feel,
and then
I’d point out that your voice makes me cringe
and consider 
ripping out my eardrums
to stop the sound
that you
are so
enamored
with.


So
in honor of not being dramatic,
read the first words
and forget 
the rest.