Sometimes I’m on the edge,
Only held up by your hand,
Your fingertips dictate my fall,
That was my plan after all.
Sometimes I hold on tightly,
As tightly as I can, simply so,
I’m the only one who lets us go.
Am I insane,
To blame the bee if it stings?
Even when I tore off both its wings?
I had so much to say,
Too much to say after all.
In the end, I said nothing at all.
I took your wings,
All of your things,
So you would stay.
In the end, you left me anyway.
But I can still taste honey.