There is a mosquito who waits for me every night in my bed.
Always with the need for unwanted pillow talk.
When I protest the bitch feels the need to buzz my head
until I feel a volcano raising. It is stalk-
ing me, buzzing close, buzzing from afar.
I try to clap B to death, my ad- hoc
plan fail, the creature only buzz louder. Tsar
mosquito, King in my throne. Hear it mock
me to the point where I feel a change like a flare star,
my colour changing to crimson murder, I refuse to balk
to a usurper! That mosquito will come up missing and dead.