An ode to the mosquito who ate my face

The nights have been warm,
Muggy and airless some might say,
I spend most of the time tossing and turning,
It’s difficult to sleep anyway.
Eventually my eyelids droop,
I begin dreaming of ice-cream,
When that blood-curdling, high-pitched buzzing,
Makes me jump and scream.

Now sitting bolt upright in bed,
I reach for my light,
But the pesky little mosquito,
Is only to be heard when it’s black as night.
You get drawn into the game,
Flicking the light switch on and off,
In hopes of relocating him,
Until you’re nothing but cross.

I yell into the darkness,
And to my suprise,
The buzzing approaches,
The room at once ablaze,
And there he is on the wall smirking at me,
I meet his gaze.

I raise my hand slowly,
So as not to scare him away,
Then slap it down swiftly,
Letting the blood spray.
I feel extremely proud of this great feat,
At seeing things fall into place,
Only to awake the next morning,
With fresh bites on my face.

Life lessons learnt: Well, none really. And we’re all just left with the perennial question: Why do you exist mosquitoes, why?


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