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.