He was seething,
but I was finally breathing.

I stood in his shadow for far too long,
mesmerized by his siren song.

I apologized for my words and held my sharp tongue,
while he never did so—I remained overstrung.

I resent myself for having endured so much,
but that's okay, as those were the years of my nascence.

Now, I stand tall in the shadow of my own dignity,
away from the wretched hands of his vanity.

He decays now, murderously slow,
while I relish my freedom forevermore.

He is seething,
I am breathing.