tone of my shade
As you hid. Sickness
In thick layers of your vanity.
I folded. Formed
To discover finite; first the anguish.
Your. Self. Gratification.
Slap my self-respect with every beat.
You lied. You. Our. Liar.
Taxed dependency. I grew. Sick.
He told everyone my habits,
He kept everything away.
I prefer to bleed at my own pace,
Over oozing your infected pus.
Every motion nourishes an alluvial heart.
A golden reminder. An indigo upturn.