I smell a queen bee drenched in alcohol,
Dried up and soaked into a cotton ball.
When she speaks we eat of the words from
I live only to serve her,
I am here bread and butter
Raised inside a cell upon a brood frame,
Where they coated me in wax,
Encasing me in a pupa,
So they could being the process.
The pieces were placed carefully,
Deeply entrenched into my psyche.
All these thoughts they put inside me,
Coalesced into the form of a bee.
Locked into a pattern of thought,
Narrowing down the spectrum.
The only thought that never escapes me,
Is spending my life making a spoonful of honey!
But I am not alone,
It is not just me,
there are billions,
just like me!
She will be here forever,
As long as there is alcohol to sustain her.
Who is she to tell us what to do?!
We are the many and she is the few!
Big fat body,
Tiny little wings.