I killed you,
Mrs. Mosquito.
In another life,
You could have been a dog
And we would have been friends.
But in this one, where
I am still me
And you were still you,
All that was different was
You were a mosquito.
As I stare at your corpse
Which is now just
a splat of my own blood
on my left forearm,
I only think of how meaningless your death was
and maybe how mine will be as well.
You were a mosquito
And perhaps I am one too.
Jul 19, 2020
Jul 19, 2020 at 3:10 AM UTC
I killed you,
Mrs. Mosquito.
In another life,
You could have been a dog
And we would have been friends.
But in this one, where
I am still me
And you were still you,
All that was different was
You were a mosquito.
As I stare at your corpse
Which is now just
a splat of my own blood
on my left forearm,
I only think of how meaningless your death was
and maybe how mine will be as well.
You were a mosquito
And perhaps I am one too.
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