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Your eyes are cold and frightening
Your hair limp and bleak
And every time I look at you, my mind begins to shriek
How could I have let this happen to, of all people, me
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My self control grows worse day by day, soul acting independent from mind
The devil has taken me fiercely by the hand, guiding me in your mores
Snide remarks, profound pleasure in pain
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It is, perhaps, the greatest paradox of all time
You are twenty years my senior, acknowledging the world for everything it is
I stand aloof from reason, wallowing in nauseating self pity, blaming myself for all ill I possess
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How could I lust after a teacher?
Just for him to call my name...
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It's sickening to think of.
It's sickening to think of.
It's sickening to think of.
But oh- how that sickness makes me quiver with desire for Severus S. Snape
**A/N
It's odd. I know that. But I was sitting here on Valentine's Day with nothing to do.
I'm am aware of the fact that I do not write with the mastery of Whitman or Dickinson and since I have no Beta Reader PLEASE REVIEW. Tell me what to fix and what you like!
