Helper Bee

What drugs made you think of me,

My helpful little helper bee?

The pollination of disease,

Upon your naked worm I feed,


I wish that I could free your soul,

My whirly, girly, rolly-poll,

The sky goes black as nitrus soil,

Beauregard and Conan Doyle,


Consecrate my sorry berth,

Castaway, 'pon nature's girth,

To take you in, enslave the Earth,

Is still my prize, for what's it's worth.


I don't know why I'm like this.

This poem is about: 


Need to talk?

If you ever need help or support, we trust for people dealing with depression. Text HOME to 741741