Bees and Clouds

You are like a bee around my head buzzing I can't hear you
your words are like poison ivy growing around a cactus that
is beginning to shrivel and attack me, because I can clearly
see the blue sky it is starting to rain in this desert, but you are
trying to squeeze nectar out of this flower and I won't let
you  near me because you are poison, disgusting.
Chocolate pudding won't fix this no coffee no tea won't
soothe the scars from the bee that buzzes around this
cactus soaking roots into the bottom of the abyss I will
have to drink a  bunch of the tonic that says you're gone
underneath an ant's forever playground.
I'm whispering to the clouds that are blowing in this
desert I am blowing red kisses in the wind
(None to you) I see through goggle glasses the blurred
spaceship you've set up to wake up the moon.
But I won't let you take over, never let you take over.
The clouds you try to strangle, you won't gain control of.
The nectar you try to gargle, you won't poison.
The rivers  you try to taint, you won't color.
The butterflies who's wings you try to clip, they will fly.
Everything is going smoothly, you are smoking your cigar,
and the ants are carrying their food, and your nose is shrinking
shrinking, blowing smoke out of your stubbornness.
I can't hold up your idiocy anymore, I can't lift your bizarre cloud
shapes anymore.  So, I turn the clock back, and the clouds
fall, on top of you, and you turn into a dog, just like
the cloud shape, and you stop being a bee
and stop bugging me.  Because you're gone.