Stockholm Syndrome
You're a cellar, a dune, a pit
And if my sparse body can fill you in
I will suffer gladly, you can have me
With your knife in my guts
I'll bleed everything if I must
This felony, this amity
These strings knotted badly
Must you let go your hold on me?
If you would ask for it,
I would, with denied grudge, submit
I would miss the kiss
Of the cold pistol's lips
And the tight embrace
Of the rope in my scrawny arms
And your stares, they need me.
poem by Norman Santos
Added by Poetry Lover
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