i.

I've had enough.

I won't write angry poetry anymore.

The black rings around my eyes are no longer aesthetic,

nor the chronic blood noses I've developed as of late.

The doctor says I need to take a break.

ii.

I keep pleading with myself to not blame you for everything,

but my mind refuses to erase the image

of you peeling off my dress

and telling me it's okay.

iii.

I haven't stopped thinking about karma since that day.

This darkness is obsessive;

was it really worth it?