My Poetry. The stalker.

He hides behind the bushes,
spying on his latest prey.
Who knows why he does it?
No one can say.

A mind torn with infatuation,
scared he will be caught,
remaining in the camouflage
feeding his dark thoughts.
For weeks he has been watching,
his stalking out of control;
insecurities blind him,
hiding from the Police Patrol.

Will he ever let her know?
He fears for her reaction.
Eventually, she notices
him glancing from the trees.
"Who is he? Why is he here?"
She starts to feel the sleaze.

In the morning she opens the blinds
to face a brand-new day.
When she closes them again at night,
he will not go away.
He convinces himself this is innocent,
confronting her, wanting to speak:
"I wonder if she will think bad of me?
Will she think I'm a freak?"

But alas, the fear grows fiercer;
he cannot find a way.
Instead, he looms in the shadows at night
and continues in the day.
The stalking overtakes him;
he cannot live his life.
He wants this girl so badly:
"Will she be my wife?"

His stalking days are numbered
as the Police close in on his trail;
and once more he is arrested,
and held without any bail.