If I were a Wordsmith, with power in my pen,
I would write your demise, a slow, painful end.
I would cut you so deep, with my words you would bleed,
The pain overwhelming, with each word that you read.
You would choke on every promise that you had ever broken,
You would hear me loud and clear, though no words ever spoken.
My emotions catch fire, and now your suffocating,
You begin to understand, but all this time I've spent waiting,
Has made me cold and numb to all you may need,
Your cries fuel my fire, my thoughts gasoline.
If I were a wordsmith, with power in my pen,
I would make you feel the pain and the weight of your sin.