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.