Wretched blood-sucker
You thief in the night
Not a moment of peace
As I’m trying to write
And you land on my skin
To steal my precious life
And of yours is the only form
I would delight
In the taking of
With no remorse
For your plight
You malaria carrying
Pestilent sprite
What in heavens above us
Conceived of your type?
Be it some impish god
Who finds joy in my strife?
As I viciously claw
At the spot of your bite
Tiny irritant buzzing
About me in flight
I would tear off each wing
Out of impassioned spite
Yet am still left to question
What gives me the right?