Pretty Monster

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I'm addicted to my stalker. He watches me every night, sneaking through my living room window, sending chills down my spine. But the moment he touches me, my entire body awakens, every fiber screaming for him. I've never seen his face, don't even know his name, but I want it. I want him. Every part of me knows how wrong this is, yet I can't bring myself to close the window and stop him. He is sick, obsessed with this twisted infatuation, addicted to his psychotic games. But maybe I'm just as sick as he is. Whether I want to or not, I'm addicted to my stalker. A rebellious tattoo artist and an obsessive stalker. When your morals are pushed to their limits, it might be time to let them go.