Blurred Perspective

I'm breathing with vacant takes of air,
And scraping words off of desolate pages,
Chase down the faux winter lights,
And I'll let my colors fly.

With this weapon of despair,
I'll rid of foreign faces,
I am an incurable blight,
Anxious to die.

My distorted mind,
Suffers deafening silence,
The chemist spells,
The word maker creates.

In vexatious scenes I am blind,
Distraught by non-violence,
Hymns turned yells,
Heathens procreate.

Asphyxiation, my intimate,
Till death do us part,
For my life is intricate,
For a grave is my heart.

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