Blood, blood, blood. I have it. You want it. I don’t want to give it. Buddhist. Buddhist. Buddhist. Not Buddhist. It’s only three millimeters, three milligrams, and one proboscis, but there is so much more to fear. It won’t kill me, but what it passes on might: malaria, dengue, West Nile, Zika, seven hundred fifty thousand viral deaths a year. Too late. There’s the sting. I’ve been had by the world’s deadliest animal – again.

a buzz inside
some thoughts won’t go away
itching and scratching

John Paul Caponigro