Stockholm syndrome

Stockholm Syndrome





It started with a Question, an arguments of sorts



and ended in battery, abuse and assault.



Its like a circle that refuses to end,



a broken chain you can never mend.









I am not hurt, nor am I surprised



I know what he's like, I see through his lies.



yet still it does sting, the words he does shout,



spiting like poison, trying to take me out.









This time he was pissed, as pissed as a fart.



Standing and swaying, as the words tumbled out.



Blood shot eyes, in a murderous rage



the scene of a crime, the bedroom's the stage.









I just pretended to be a sleep, safe in my dreams,



where love is real and nothing is as it seems.



Far from him and all that he is.



Buzzing, sober or as this case; pissed.









But he didn't give up, it was my attention he wanted.



So he made sure I dame well took notice.



He charged from the door way across to the bed,



Flung out his fist, straight into my head.









“Wake up little whore, I know your awake”



“No point pretending, I know your a fake”



“Time to face the music, for your little fun”



“You will wish you never met me after I'm done”









“To late for that”, I scream out in pain,



my head was spinning, around with my brain.



I tried to move forwards, roll out of his reach



but he grab hold my hair, like a blood sucking leach.









We tumbled and twisted in a mass of limbs



both to stubborn to stop, each aiming to win.



Fist flying, teeth biting, he's laughing, I’m crying,



we keep going, never stopping, still fighting. I thought I was dying.









Then suddenly.... the fight met its end when I fell on the floor,



I took that chance and then ran straight for the door.



Out to the hall way, for a door with a lock.



Into the bathroom where now I am stuck.









He tried to get in, smashing away.



Fist pounding hard, but the lock still did stay.



In the end he went quite, the bangs did fade,



and I wondered tomorrow how much damaged he made.















But for now it was my face that caused me concern.



My eye was throbbing and my neck seemed to burn.



Blood covered my clothes, the colour of wine.



Yet I had no cut none of it was mine.









Serves him right, the bastard he is.



He started this fight just coz he's pissed.



He started this battle, for a war that’s not real



and dragged me along for more pain to feel.









As if I don't already have enough to cope with



As if I need more of his shit.



As if I wanted to feel more of this pain.



As if I needed to go further insane.









It doesn't really matter, tomorrow he will forget.



Be all “I am sorry” and full of regret.



He will promise never to hurt me or hit again.



Say he's not drinking, that he will stay away from his friends.









He will hold me and hug me, and will love me just right.



All because of a pissed up fight.



And for one day I will feel like he really care,



like he loves me truly and it was just a nightmare.









It the same story each and every time.



Same old song he sings, same old lies.



And as sick as it sounds, I am looking forwards to it.



Tomorrow I will be loved and I will forget.









Everything he has done to me now and before



because he right about something I really am a whore.



Willing to sell how my dignity for a moment of love



a moment of peace and a moment of touch.









I must have Stockholm syndrome its the only explanation,



the only reason I still stay in this fucked up situation.



The reason I don't run and flea while I can.



The reason I still love this evil, fucked up man.......