The Stockholm Syndrome
Bound and broken, my sweet ending,
Pain in every fibre of my being...
Pain, pain, I need it, crave it!
And it is so impossibly sweet...
Every night I try not to weep;
I am so weak (my lack of sleep) -
He doesn't need a weak lover
Yet I am merely his prisoner...
He takes my body forcefully,
And I take pleasure in it, unwillingly;
Crawling over my skin, his essence,
My greatest fear - desire - is his presence.
I love to see him, feel him,
But the light is always so dim.
He is the boggart under my bed,
He haunts me with his eyes so red.
A/N: I know the title is over-used, but bear with me. I wrote it this summer as I drew a picture of both of them: Harry half-bandaged, naked, in a naked Tom's arms, his eyes cold; the whole thing was placed in a full-moon night on a cemetery.
