Poem: Stop It

Is that her?
Stop it.
I know she's nearby,
I can feel her.
Stop it,
You're doing it again.
Why am I still thinking about her?
How long has it been
since I've seen her?
Why do I do this
to myself?
I have no idea
what she is like
anymore.
Time must have changed her,
as much as it has changed me.
I'm in love with a memory,
an illusion,
it's not real.
I want to see her.
Stop it!
This must be my destructive impulse;
searching madly for a way to destroy me.
That's how it works,
you know,
the evil inside
will use any tool
to make me miserable.
Does she still think of me?
Stop it.
I haven't really loved again,
she was my last.
I've had lovers, yes.
Some of them quite deep
and wonderful.
But never like her.
Never with every fiber
of my being
and to Hell with the world.
Never again perhaps.
Stop it...
Please?