A shade of Orange

You said you wish I could see what they see when they're looking at me but it is murky behind my eyes and I don't see things clearly. I squint to see their perception of me I'm a reflection in broken glass. I tiptoe around the shards delicately touching the soft parts as they watch me bleed into the rug. I've become a smeared image of what you wanted them to see staining everything. A shade of orange you can't wipe clean