His beard is like a wild bush fire, there is so much it consumes.
His mouth is like a gun, when it opens it shoots bullets, bullets of harm, bullets of pain.
His eyes are like lasers, bright, red and terrifying.
His laugh is like a siren, a warning that you should go home.
His smile is a cruel, closed gap in his horrifying face, waiting to open to make you feel uncomfortable.
His promises are fake.
If he was a season, he would be winter, the coldest, iciest winter.
By Maisie
Great Poem! I found it interesting to read.