QueenBeeKnowItAll

Song: “Theme of Laura (Reprise)” — Silent Hill 2 soundtrack -:- Can I see another's woe, And not be in sorrow too? Can I see another's grief, And not seek for kind relief? —William Blake, “On Another’s Sorrow” -:- Alone, as per usual, a troubled young man sits in his room, his face aglow with computer light as he watches another troubled young man at the end of his rope. “This is it. This is where it all ends. End of the road…” The young man knows all too well what the end of the road was for the man on the other side of the screen: arming himself to the teeth and taking over

People say my head is in the clouds. But I say to them, it’s in a swarm of bees. I live up to my name, it seems. My head is a hive swarming and buzzing with ideas, larvae squirming within honeycombs to break out of royal, cerebral honey. Prose or poetry? Prose. So many pages, so many possibilities. Poems. Short and sweet. And so on and so on. Some days, it is simply bombination, a din in my head that settles to a droning white noise. Other days, the larvae metamorphose, sting and poke and prod me, run me through like some living pincushion. Am I the queen of such a hive? Am I the beekeeper? Or am I both? Will I ever find out? Do

Hangnail, hangnail, Thorn in my hand, What glory shall ye yield? Thorns in the side gain biblical verses, Or are necessary evils of roses beloved. Sand grains in oyster shells become pearls, Rough turned into diamond, Bane into beauty. But what of you, oh blessing of stepmothers? Some fairy tale of plaguing those toiling stepdaughters, Insult to injury? Or perhaps some lore bespeaking the mothers-die of the lace of queens, Or the fathers-die of black widows… But in the end, it shall matter not. For to me, ye shall yield nothing But voicelessness in the jaws of clippers.