Beelzebulb

Oh how you torment me,
stealth denizen of the lower regions.
You appear where I least expect—in my
closet 'neath my clothes; in my bathroom,
below the sink. Sometimes I'll even awake to
find that you've crept into bed with me, your
thin crispness clinging to the sole of my foot.
How do you escape the tight, hungry bristles
of my broom? Is it a game for you? Or is it
merely revenge for having been plucked
from the earth, deprived of your
natural fate by the dictates of
culinary convention?