Mother — the Sky Leech returns —
And I shake with Dread —
It ricochets from wall to wall
Above the Couch and Bed —
I marinate in Peppermint —
And Eucalyptus Oil —
Like some Victorian Cough Drop
Gone medicinally vile —
The tiny Fiend ignores the scent —
It seeks me all the same —
A blood-drunk little Aviator
With ****** on its Brain —
I snap into the Air — then miss —
It taunts me with its Hum —
A tiny Horror dressed in Wings —
Too small to overcome —
A blood-fed Relic of the Dark —
A plague the Night conceived —
So now we hide within the Room
Like Peasants — Plague-besieged —