When too sober, with the life and lies,
I all alone smoke weed till late,
No trouble bothers as I fly in the ‘heavens’ skies,
And look upon myself, and my blessed fate,
Wishing me to light one more rich joint,
And load some bong for friends to smoke,
Ah! The desire of a man’s art is the point,
With the weed mostly, I prefer sipping coke,
Yet in those thoughts, myself almost aware,
My inner soul reaches out of physical state,
Like to smoke till I have an OBE then and there,
From this dimension, I rise to the heaven’s gate,
For thy sweet love Mary, I wrote this thing,
And every time I get high, this is what I’ll sing.
Check William Shakespeare's "SONNET 29" before reading this.