Through My Window Pane

Golden rubbers and a Glock,

A new girl on the block.

His words, a twisted game,

Plotting on my very name.

He says he just wants to talk,

But I see him, as he stalks.

Past my window, a shadow deep,

While in my bed, I try to sleep.

"Gorgeous," he whispers, a chilling sound,

As fantasies of me, unbound,

Plotting on my very name.

Turn dark, a forest, a violent art,

He says he's in love, tearing me apart.

Alone in my room, the blinds pulled wide,

He's at my window, nowhere to hide.

One, two, the girl he desires,

Eight is the bullet, fueling his fires