Honey never agreed with me
but the bees have never stung
as I brought my white van up
They would circulate me,
but they had this instinct,
of how they knew me.
I wish they stung me to death,
before I hurt the one of twelve,
and of Kate and others several,
in this two stanza brevity.
I deserve and wish for death,
before I can inhale another breath.
Those bees,
if I kicked the nest,
I'll be stung to red.
I was comfortable,
around their buzzing.