Tick

I’m practically invisible
and that feeling’s sweet
knowing I can see them
but they can’t see me

dangling from branches
holding onto leaves
waiting for my moment
to harvest and to feast

cling on to their socks
sit upon their feet
find a place to plant yourself
a place you can’t be seen

bury a head into soft skin
drunk on blood the room starts to spin
too bad your host is itching away
too bad your host doesn’t want you to stay
too bad you’re picked out and thrown away