I love horror so I wrote this a while ago. When rereading it it reminded me of Hermione, so I posted it here.
At times, this can be confusing, just a warning...
I have a problem…
I know I do, but I just can't stop.
Seeing her, it's like my ecstasy.
I know she'll never see me, but that's fine.
As long as I can see her I'm fine.
It all started months ago, this problem.
You see I was fine before I laid my eyes on her, I was just fine.
But now, now, I can't go a day without thinking of her -
No, I can't go a minute without thinking of her.
That day I saw her was like any other,
I was sitting there quietly reading my book like I always do.
I was minding my own business, when she came.
She hadn't said a word when she came.
She just sat in a chair across the room, and took out a book.
She sat silently in the chair across the room, and read.
Making absolutely no noise at all, she sat there.
She looked like a little doll, all still and quiet, reading.
At first I tried to ignore her,
I pretended that my book was more important than the doll sitting there.
But, I was a fool then.
Sooner or later, I gave in.
I began to watch her.
I watched her as she read from my seat.
I watched her as her gentle eyes scanned each and every page.
I watched her as her soft hands touched every word.
I watched her as she got lost in the world of the book.
With each second I watched her, the more I got lost as well -
The more I got lost in her.
But, it ended too quickly,
She had gotten up to leave.
She had gotten up to go away from me.
I was still lost in the doll, though.
No matter how many times I tried,
I was always still lost in the doll.
I thus began following her.
I followed the doll.
I walked slowly behind her,
Never stopping, not once.
Within minutes, she realized.
She was a smart doll.
She knew I was there.
She gracefully turned around to face me and…
You know what, they tell me I have a problem.
I admit it, I do have a problem.
I know I do, but I can't help it.
Don't blame me for the problem,
Blame her.
How is it my fault that
Seeing her dead, is my ecstasy?
How is it my fault that
Watching her die, is my dreams?
How is it my fault that
Hearing her scream, is my lullaby?
How is it my fault that
Killing her, is my bliss?
I know I had a problem…
I know I did, but it's over now.
It's over now,
She's gone now, isn't she?
The doll is dead isn't she?
How was it? Was it really confusing? Please review and tell me what you thought and maybe even ideas for other stories/poems!