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.