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Acrimony Stings and Honeycombs
You had such thick honey
hidden in the waxy cells
of your flesh.
Which everyone kept harvesting
through a process of
extraction.
They would daze and confuse you
with a hazy smoke of words
that blinded you
from their intentions.
And after they would rip sublime pieces from you,
leaving you trying to keep yourself
intact.
But you always built yourself up again
in perfect alignment,
so that no one could tell that
you were being robbed of your sweetness.
Until one day, you stung them
with bitterly sharp words
that pierced through their cochleas.
It left painful wounds too small to see, throbbing angrily.
But like a bee with just a single sting
you maimed yourself and
lost your ability to make honey.
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