THERE IS NO QUEEN BEE: by John at age 17
Millions of drones, running around,
Going to church, while I’m going down,
Straight to the center, the deeper it flows.
Straight to the center, my anger, it grows.
Wasting their time on an invisible god.
To get to heaven, but heaven’s a fraud.
The subconscious state in the back of your head,
The happy place that you go, when you are dead.