Monday, August 29, 2016

Stockholm Syndrome

A prayer in tears
begging for a miracle
in a chair, all tangled up
I was a target by mistake –
There's no ransom
There's only cold, hard love
that could slice our guts in half
I saw his face
He had a name, too
And he knew that I knew
But still, he let me go
I went back to say I wished I had something to offer
He said, "What the fuck is wrong with you?"



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