The Uninvited Pest

I’m playing dead
in the living room
but Beelzebub wasn’t airborne yesterday.

I attempt to pulverise
the prince of demons
with a paperback
penned by the Nobel Prize winner
William Golding.

membranous wings
and piercing Pearson red eyes
compound my misery;
does decaying matter really matter?
He asks me.

I can only pray
the SWAT team spray
enough insecticide to find I died not by suicide
but at the hands of a housefly
from Hell.


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