The Battle

I swear Mr. Montgomary Moth that you only choose to show your face when I am in a coma like faze of being asleep but still aware of the outside world. Where do you live? Why do you taunt me with your wicked voice of miniscule cat screams. My life will be satisfactory when I squash you. You sick bastard, you live to deprive me off relaxation. I hate you. Are you only happy when fondeling with my ear drum? You need to get out more, seek other hot items, preferably a flurescent light that electrcutes you to your grave. The war between us as only just begun.