Stockholm Syndrome
for when i dream
all that i attempted
to forget
surfaces
like a dead body
weighted down
thrown into the deep
to sink
if
the weights come off
it floats to the surface
bloated
decaying
as my thoughts are
dead
rotting
these thoughts
have been bound
burned
beat
until they bleed
(tears on the moon soaked in red)
kept them alive
just to see them suffer
fed them. nursed them.
i love them
i loath them
they die
and i attached
weight to them
sunk them
down into
my hysterical abyss
i guess at night
the weights detach
under the high white
light
of the moon
i thought i got rid of them
but bloated
the come back
up to the surface
beckoning
for my violent love
entering
in my deepest dreams
they won’t let me
forget
they want me to
wake
screaming
memories
of what i’ve done
bubbling back
i cannot
bury this burden
(this is what happens
when your love is filled
with violence
and your violence
stems from love)
