My world is no longer colored red
I'm not pulled by a deafening rage.
No longer wishing to be an angel of death,
my dramatic self finally leaves the stage.

Slowly, I gain back control of my mind.
My breathing normalizes.
That part of me is gone, but what's left behind?
Everything has now turned to ashes.

"Will you forgive me?" I say, watery eyes,
face contrived by shame and remorse
you say you do, but your stare, cold like ice,
punishes me with fearful force