TheWickedWordsmith

Been so long since i picked up the pen So long in fact that i thought it might be the end Of something i took pride in; deadliest sin Forever cursed to leave what ive accomplished a half win But here i am again; spitting just the same In fact i think absence lit my fingers aflame Scribing wicked fire, venting all my ire Determined to not let my depression make me a liar Its been nearly a year since i attempted a verse Couldnt think of a better day than the day rather be in a hearse Rhyming’s how i cope and i right now i couldnt feel worse So why not try one last time; one final rhyme Something to leave behind to find when they discover the crime... Is what i was thinking before i put pen back to pad And now im happy to say im far less sad Spitting really is my best way to cope And ill keep it in mind the next time i mope This started as an epitaph, something to read at my eulogy Little did i know this whole time i was foolin’ me I thought i’d lost the spark, left lifeless and