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Stockholm Syndrome

Can we surrender

Into your arms?

They seem so sturdy

And yet, I hesitate.

I’m still bruised from the last fall,

When I fell and kept falling, no one catching me , no one to break the fall

I remember;

My body as it plunged towards the wooden floor,

Followed by quick successions of a series of thuds

And how you giggled with a sadistic satisfaction at such sounds,

Music to your ears

Oh how even now, the bruises remain

And I’ve been left with some kind of Stockholm syndrome ,

Craving your terrible bedside manner.

Even now,

When a lull enters a space beside me

I look for your lies to coat me

Just the one coat even, a light colour of false optimism

It doesn’t even have to be a very good one

I just want a temporary fix

To colour in the holes and gloss over the bruises

All in an effort to pretend, pretend

That I’m whole

You’ve been always good with make-believe,

That I can rely on

So bring your game here, please

Pretty please.


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