Subsequently you resent thee,

for the loathing that you hide.

No condoning, just corroding,

as it's spiraling inside.

Subsequently you resent thee,

for the answers I sustain.

Condescending, your pretending,

that your mending hearts of pain.

Contradicting and deflecting,

all your negligence in vain.

While I'm condoning without showing,

beneath I see where truths remain.