Stockholm Syndrome

To you he smelled of the most sinful delight,
an enslaving dominant smell,
to the rest of the world he smelled of cheap intoxicants and weed.

Every night,
as ritual,
again
no, not again

He greedily showers you with kisses…

But it's not the gentle kind.
And when you wake up it’s always the same.
Covering up the bruise shaped kisses

again
and again
as ritual
as custom.

Blame it on the alcohol
you always will.

You wake up to find a note attached his side of the bed;

Clean the house.

You know you don’t have a healthy relationship with him, and that the abuse has to stop.
But he needs me.
He loves me.
And that is all that matters.

You don’t remember the last time you saw
daylight
He locks the windows and doors,
But that’s only because he’s afraid
you might fall ill,

He is so generous,
takes care of you
and ever so charming
but
he demands that in return you do everything he says.

You remember the one time you were dusting his library when you stumbled across an enticing book.
It was all about mental health.

You read your life story; this book was made for you.
But you love him, you know you do.

Stockholm syndrome? I don’t think so.