Stockholm Syndrome


You were the voice in my head,
couldn't make out what you were saying.

You were the stars in the sky,
but stars burn out sometimes.

Yours were the arms I craved,
a comfort from the hell around me,
now a prison cell.

You were the hand over my mouth,
when I tried to breathe.

You were the tears I cried,
in the solace of the night.

You were the shadow,
taunting, always following.

You were the one I wanted,
loved and needed,
but you weren't the one for me.

You were my Vicodin,
killing all my pain,
lulling me into a drugged sleep.

You were the false sense of protection,
the forsaken safety I sought.

Fallen from grace,
shattered upon the jagged rocks below,
you picked up my lifeless body.

You brought me back to life,
only to slowly kill me,
with each tortured cry I made,
my torment only grew.

You were the one who tried to save me,
only to push me over the ledge.

You were so many things,
my angel, my captor, my deviant,
you were everything to me.

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