Ever since the winter begun, I had a plan.

So, I bought maybe three bug itch creams, as mosquitoes have been haunting my dreams.

And I put each carefully away, waiting for the day.

Couldn't find a single one, the mosquitoes had won.

I am itching everywhere, by-my-sock-and-shirt and I already looked there.

There are no mosquitoes in my living-room, it got me on the outside, to my doom.

The little hell spawn, hit me on the lawn.

Non the less I am sitting here itching in a slump, trying not to scratch my bump.

And despite my terrible warning dream, I still have no cream.

You know it hurt when she bit into me, and she was pretty large and beastly.

I feel bad for the way we parted, for I am not cold-hearted.

But, what was I going t do? Argue?

Pardon me, lady…

But that is my blood, could you not!?…

And she seemed like a little old lady too, she had the reflexes of glue.

I am certain she'll be fine, after drinking bodybuilder blood wine.

Now I am itching all over, waiting until the itch is over.

I have one more trip to make, If I panic I’ll slap myself into a pancake.

I think I will avoid the racket, by just putting on my winter hood and jacket.

Sigh, and why must they make us itch, what are they tying to teach?

Is there even a lesson here, of is it purely about fear?

Cause it works on me, and by now my bump is now the size of a pea.