I get angry with myself every time I write
down a poem because I just see so much
of you in my work. You are in every verse,
in every thought. I don’t know how to
purge you out of my system. The tears
and the screams and the words and
the denial aren’t working anymore.
If this is what love does, I don’t know if
I want to feel it ever again.
Poem #157
