Reasons I am a bad poet:
You penetrated my skin and it was unwanted. You took from me and I did not ask you, I do not want you near me as the depths of the day turned into twilight and then into the inky black of night.
You came when I didn’t even know you were lurking in the shadows.
You took and you left marks and swelling and uncomfortable pain. You drank from me as if I was nothing.
You fly with determination and I can only hope to kill you before you violate another.
And you feed because your brood must eat. You need what I have and don’t wish to give you. I ask you to leave, but you cannot hear or you chose not to.
You are a mosquito and you are nothing but death and disease and eventual pain. You kill, you breed and you are a vampire that neither shines or looks good in tight black. You just bring death. You are silent and more deadly than any weapon.
I am not the object of your affection. I am only a temporary solution for you.
You are nothing more than flying death.
I am not your local pub and although I will not vanquish you, I will try.
Reason #313 I am not a poet.