There are honeybees in my lungs.
Where is the honey?
When I spoke, I spoke with words so sweet
It was sickening.
Now I pay the price.
Where is the honey?
I don't have any. I cannot make it.
I simply pretend I keep it
In the hollow in my chest.
What a stupid idea.
The bees are afraid that they're trapped.
Where is the honey?
They sting at my lungs,
And they close up my throat.
I get all of my oxygen
From a tiny tube
That runs underneath my skin.
Where is the honey?
The bees drop dead.
I feel each, a finale of a miserable concerto,
Thudding against the bottom of my lungs.
My throat opens up.
Where is the honey?
I cannot make it.
No one makes it, now;
All the bees are dried up in my chest.
When I move too fast I rattle,
Symptoms of a hollow girl.

(A/N): sorry I've been inactive for so long! I'm back, but there probably won't be consistent updates (not that there ever was lol). thanks for sticking with me!