Witty writers with wishy-washy writes
Rhyming everything that comes to em mind
With every beat that cross em heart
Uncertainty and confusion though surround his live
Struggling to revive his injured vibe  
Like autunm tree; they think he died  
Poor and ugly; they paint him black  
Couldn't find love, no, he couldn't thrive  
Beauty shred but he still survive  
They even named him "the brokest ***** alive"  
 
But see, words has always been his spine  
His greatest ally when troubles arise
When the moon, the sun and the earth collide  
And the sky is tiled with a scary clime  
Clouding his heart, eclipsing his mind  
poem brought smile with its lines as guide  
So if not for rhyme, depressions could've ruin his life  
Writing to him is what oxygen is to the heart