Die, Potter, Die

Everyone thinks you're perfect
And can do no wrong
Everyone thinks you're number one
And Hogwarts is where you belong

But I beg to differ
I really must disagree
I'd rather you be somewhere else
Far away from me

If you'd be in good old London
That's not far enough
Or even across an ocean
Of waves torrid, rough

You'd still walk the earth in some form
That I could chance to see
But if you were six feet under
That would work for me

"What happened to the Boy-Who-Lived"
People would often ponder
And how they'd ever live without you
I'm sure a few would wonder

But I wouldn't cry, I wouldn't mourn
I wouldn't shed a tear
In fact I'd probably laugh out loud
-That's something rare to hear

So why do you keep hanging on?
I'm asking you now, why
Can't you leave me with my peace
And die, Potter, die.

* * *

Author's Note: What you just read was originally from my story *ALERTshamelessplugaheadALERT* "Diaries of a Dungeon-Dwelling Moron," the true-life tales of Severus S. Snape. You should all read it. Really. Anyway... I wrote the poem for that, since Nita (She's A Star) made me, and loved it too much to just leave it in there. So here you are, reading this. And that's why.

And if you're still reading this after that ramble, I'm surprised. Mehehe.

Oh, and this is dedicated to Nita, btw. It's only right.