A Haunting

How long shall I mourn thee? Thou who art dead to me
yet still may I chance upon your spectre in mostly every corridor of my mind.  
Around whos corners you reach out and grab me.  
Dragging me to the deepest recesses of such bitter woe and sad self pity.      
And when I am granted some respite from the drudgery of my waking hours, in resting, rest I not.
 For haunted I am, by ghosts of you , even into my wildest dreams, to torture me there.      
Is there no escaping you?      
You who are the express image some foul beast wearing the skin of some wonderous fairy?      
Could it be that some small copy of you burrowed its way into my brain whilst I slumbered?      
There to carve out a home for itself and poke me with white hot prickers?      
What dastardly deed was done by me that I may deserve such a fate as this? Who sent thee?      
God? Satan?      
Yes the later seems befitting. For it is by the mere memory of you that I am driven to such fine madness and utter destitude.      
Be gone from me!      
Trouble me no more!      
You who posess more beauty than a baby's smile      
And more evil than the devils wiles.      
Be gone from me I say!      
Trouble me no more...