Flaking

You changed colors like leaves in the fall, and I waited for you to drift down, to settle on the forest floor like the rest of us, but you cloaked yourself in the colors of spring, and hid yourself among the living blades of the leaves around you. You hid your decay beneath vibrant green veins, while the rest of us moldered on the earth. Before you I had never known a chameleon, the subtle chips and scratches on carefully built facades had passed unnoticed, I had no idea of the hidden things, the desperate disguises, before yours broke in front of me. You never got that costume back, chameleon.
Others used their ability to hide what would harm others, to protect themselves, but you, chameleon, you used it to consume others. The closer you got to me, the less alive I felt, and your changing colors put me on edge, ill at ease, for the contradicting appearances were more than I could puzzle through. Before you, chameleon, the world was innocent and clear.
You are the reason I receive those looks, those obstructed faces, claiming me as one of their own, but I am not that. I changed my outside to reflect my tarnished insides, but you changed yours to hide who you were, chameleon, and there is no returning from that. You spun a web of lies, and sucked the happiness out of those around you, chameleon, and it took all I had to escape. Chameleon, you claimed you had no part in it, that you had done nothing, that I had been the controlling one, but I had only asked. Maybe you needed someone to control you. Maybe, chameleon, you were searching for someone like you, to change colors with you, and follow you through the world. But I am not a chameleon, and I would never follow you.