Wicked is a sinner when he frolics and he chants,
Drooling at the mercy of a tight fitting pair of pants.
Lost in all relations of the way that we all are,
Drunk, then to Dunkin for some carbs before the bar.
Losing a grip on reality is still considered a sin,
Giving in to sweet relief, betting he will always win.
Gambling and gambling, and Lord, what a surprise.
Never in a million years he hadn’t dreamt of demise.
Paralleled in cadence are these wasteful acts alone,
Amplifying everything, delivering such a strong tone.
And to give into depression was never his will or way,
It’s only at times like this, when a Wicked Sinner does appear so gay.
Lustrous encounters and angry with passion,
Feeling trembling moments, are they everlasting?
Approaching climaxes just for mild relation,
To the testaments of ancients, once upon a nation.
Applying himself, he gazes forward with restraint.
Focused on the future, he takes a moment to think.
And in a short while, he’ll enjoy what’s left of life.
Begging harshly unto God, “End My Wicked Strife!”
For poetry and more, visit Mecella.