Write Right

The other day my daughter asked me  
What would I do if I found out I only had a month to live?  
I responded, I wouldn’t tell anyone, I would spend it writing,  
I would spend every waking hour writing so my words would survive…  

I would spit the sickest slickest shit and my flow will be so ill,  
I would drop a great deal of ink like an oil spill from my quill,  
I would inscribe until my eyes and fingers thoroughly bled,  
I would compose so hard and fast racing like a thoroughbred,  
I would write until my head and skull go numb and sore,  
Drink some mocha monsters and then I’ll write some more,  
I would pen letters, poems and prose for those close to me,  
Paragraphs like photographs for those who may have forgotten me,  
I would reach into the deepest parts of my mind, heart and soul,  
Expressing with honesty and modesty my love for it all,  
Then in my pending death I’ll engrave the perfect ending prose,  
And my epitaph simply say, he died of a writing overdose.