So allow me to use your lungs and your breath as my inhaler.
Because my lungs are forever severed, so be as my tailor.

Hesitation in my inhales will be the interpretation of your respire.
A seen misconception of a falling chest to the resurrection by a deep breath.

But the oxygen you gasp for will be appropriated to fuel my fire.

Drifting next to me is the spilling of your lungs,
cloak for inconsistency,
armor for what I confront.  
A refugee for the alterations and the changes.
Your spine is an easel as your body the canvas.

Let me paint you a pretty picture
Reflected to the pupils in your eyes
Darker than the trench that allows you to see the beautiful lies.

Couplets of brush strokes and puppets that you choke
The air you abuse, now CO2
Is the kindle to my fire.