Crushed In Oblong (Run-on/Run-out)

You have hung me out to dry one too many times.
In lines of China White you sniff me like poison glue
In beat with the dead-end life.
Frozen over tears on pale white face.
You are the deviant police with lies of an indeterminate nature.
Digital like trees.
In rows of nines.
At sixes and sevens.
You rot like leaves in the dead of winter.
Be mine.

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