Thunder does it Your hands do it Haters deserve it Antibiotics cure it You'll do it when you solve it

Small in size but built to fly, I seek a targets watchful eye. Thrown by hand with careful art, I aim to find the very heart.

I'm a glowing rectangular pocket-dwelling beast, That feeds on your thumbs for a daily feast. You stare at my face till your eyeballs blur, Then panic and scream when I start to purr!

On it. Hit it. Too many curves And you’ll want to quit it.

I look like snow, but my colors are wrong; I fall from the air after fire burns strong. I darken the sky, and can choke the air, Waiting for the wind to carry me elsewhere.