Shall I compare you to a winter’s night?
You are so prudish and troublingly cold.
Your fiery scorn asphyxiates the light
And damn, I can’t take it! I’m getting old!
The blazing depths of hell gaze up at me,
And my complexion is dulled and dimmed.
Please stop! Leave me alone! Just let me be!
And let nature’s course run untrimmed.
Man! Your bleak winter never seems to fade,
Or lose possession of the being you are,
And death loses his fire in your shade;
You’ve made my life unhealthy and bizarre.
There should be a volta or turn here, I know,
So, I’ll end by saying I’m on low-grade blow.
Photo by Aditya Vyas on Unsplash
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