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There are bees in my brain again. All that's in my eardrums is the picking, gnawing, chewing; the incessant buzzing of their wings beating against my prefrontal cortex. I can hear them working away, relentlessly, day&night;, trying to make a home for themselves. A hive in my head. They have taken up residence. They are quite comfortable. I imagine their tiny bee legs mixing a golden, syrupysweet substance. Thoraxes and abdomens dancing a little bee dance on my brainstem, happily humming, poised to pour the poison. The sauce saturates my cerebrum. Thickerthanhoney...molasses. It weighs me down--adheres me to the ground. Now I am suspended in a tub of the suffocating stuff.
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Jul 27, 2013
Jul 27, 2013 at 4:48 AM UTC
I Wish You'd Quit Pestering Me
There are bees in my brain again. All that's in my eardrums is the picking, gnawing, chewing; the incessant buzzing of their wings beating against my prefrontal cortex. I can hear them working away, relentlessly, day&night;, trying to make a home for themselves. A hive in my head. They have taken up residence. They are quite comfortable. I imagine their tiny bee legs mixing a golden, syrupysweet substance. Thoraxes and abdomens dancing a little bee dance on my brainstem, happily humming, poised to pour the poison. The sauce saturates my cerebrum. Thickerthanhoney...molasses. It weighs me down--adheres me to the ground. Now I am suspended in a tub of the suffocating stuff.
els
Written by
els
Jul 27, 2013
Jul 27, 2013 at 4:48 AM UTC
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