I am the queen of disorientation. 

There were bumble bees building nests in my hair and now I'm made of honey combes;

but sometimes my sweetness can go sour under pressure.

I have a hive for a heart; buzzing and beating below the surface of my sugar skin. 

I loose track of time too easily; my days are spent pollinating all the same flowers.

Similar smells and fallen petals feed me what I'm too afraid to find. 

Nectar; yellow dust; rain water. 

My wax is painted gold and just like metal, I melt for you.

It's not so hard to set fire to me.

Afterall, the queen is just one with her workers.