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.