Disclaimer: I Don't own harry potter....*sobs*
You don't know.
You can't.
There is no way to understand the hatred.
The loathing.
There's nothing to like about her.
He red hair
is a wild mess. A constant reminder of who she was, and where she came from. A tell-tale sign
of her unworthiness.
Her brown eyes
are the color of mud, the color of shit. The eyes are the window to the soul, and her soul was impure. Trash.
Her nose
is too pointy. Like a bird's beak. She can only dream about being a beautiful, as graceful as a bird, though.
Her lips
are pale and thin, cracked and dry. Just as disgusting as the rest of her.
Her collarbone
is getting more prominent. Still covered by fat though. What a load.
Her arms
are chubby. They flail about. No self control. A disgrace. The scars don't help either.
He breasts
are far too big. Everyone knows breasts are just fat. She really should go on a diet.
Her stomach
has a repulsive poof. Fat once again. Nothing a few sit ups won't fix.
Her legs
touch. Legs that touch are for fat people. Come on Ginny, I know you can do it. I know your thin on the inside. You just need to let her out.
Her veins
are so tempting. Their translucent blue-purple color is so enticing...it could seduce anyone.
Her blood
is what I need. Ever spilled drop is a drop of impurity gone from her body.
Her face
is my face.
She is me
and
I am her.
She is trash.
With every skipped meal, and with every slice, I pretend to like her more.
It's all a game, you know.
playing with the delicate balance between life and death.
I'm not planning on letting her live long, anyway.
She is a greedy beast.
All she ever wants is more,
more food, more books, more friends.
So it's my job to rein her in; to keep her under control.
If i weren't here, she would go wild.
She'd become feral quite quickly, really.
Destroy everything in her path,
if it consols you at all, she'd regret it after.
She'd force herself to give it all back.
The return would be violent, she'd shake and convulse.
Tears would stream down her face.
The acid would sting, it would hurt so bad.
She would like it though, because deep down she'd know she deserved it.
She's a naughty girl, and thats the problem.
If only she were good, pure.
She'd simply be less.
Isn't that what we all want?
To take up less space, to need less, to depend on less?
To need nothing and nobody?
To be completely self-reliant.
That, my friend, is the begining of perfect.
The sought-after dream of mine.
Of hers.