Sonnet 18, or an ode to benzos

Shall I compare thee to a summer’s day?
Thou art more lovely and more temperate
Thou calmest me most
When thou art blue –
Like the sky that houses the sun.
 
Ah the sun; so warming, joyful, happy
But sometimes scorching all my worries
Burning them down to ashes
Their fumes wafting their way back into me;
Like a phoenix, the ashes resurrect,
Bursting upwards from the ground
And slapping me straight in the goddamn face
As the summer reminds me;
you must be happy.
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