I've never written a poem before, but rip it up by all means....
There is a bee in my pocket.
I dread this buzz (but long for it).
I pull it out roughly,
Press it's belly
And it is silenced.
I drop it quickly, it's warmth
An unbearable torture (but also a heartaching comfort).
The small, but white-hot heat sears my thigh once more
Thawing (but making me feel more alive than ever).
I produce the bee once more.
I am melting before it.
I cannot bear to hold it.
But neither can throw it away.
He is silenced once more.
I could crush him. I could lock him away.
He returns to his spot.