Missing You

Little Bruh,

The poems and the lyrics; all the rhymes I can't get back, it makes me think of us and all the time we can't get back,

the years we spent in peril were the truth, it all depends, but what I wouldn't give if we could do it all again.

I know just what you'd say if you were with me; all aside, "The problem wit you bruh is that you hate to swallow pride,"

I know this cause when we last spoke you said that very thing, it daily roams my mind and not just that but ev'rything.

The question that I ponder is just what has it been worth? The answer found me wondering when's last I been to church,

I'm sure that God devised this very time for me to see, that life's too short to waste it on such reasoning as beef.

I sit inhaling weed smoke of the reggie in my lungs, debating if this lupus chokes the self which I've become,

it brings to mind the time you told me "Hold it n1gga; choke!", I did until I coughed and had us all afloat in smoke.

I guess I'm just reflectin bruh cause if my time is done, I see my mind is glowing; it's as if my shine is sun,

I thank you for allowing me these words to kick wit you, a brother's way of saying just how much he's missing you.

©2014

The Cunning Linguist