mosquito boy

Tomorrow, once again, mosquitoes will be my best friend, or at least i will be their best friend. I will be food in abundance, i will be a showering of blessings, a shining light in the darkness of simpang. I would be the vengeful god, taking a few sacrifices of lives from them as i give them life and continuity.

Perhaps somewhere in their even vast-er universe (for distance as we know, is relative to size, a single metre to us may seem like a 48km marathon to an ant for all we know), they have a shrine dedicated to worshipping the deities-in-green-who-come-in-a-gust-of-grey-smoke-in-burning-hot-green-vehicles or the green-quadropods-who-takes-a-life-and-gives-a-million.

But i don't feel godly at all. Instead, i feel more like a character from Tim Burton's Melancholy death of oyster boy and other stories. Mosquito boy or something.

There was a boy, Joe,
Who was stung by a mosquito.
He didn't realise at that point,
that it'll change his life so.

His head shrank,
extra arms grew,
and his nose became
the barrel of a tank.
wings sprouted
and eyes compounded
and soon little Joe,
became a mosquito man.

At first he flew up, and
he flew down
and he landed,
on a patch of brown.
he lowered his head,
as his nose touched the ground,
and before he could hear
a single sound,


-SLAP-


Lol. just something i wrote up this lousy night in camp.

till nxt time