Stockholm Syndrome

There is a darkness about me.

You are my light and now you don't even believe in me.

You are the sun, the Aurora Borealis, fireflies dancing on a summer night.

You are a street lamp, a stop light, the xenon in my car's headlights.

You are fluorescent bulb dangling from my ceiling fan,

the single LED blinking on my key chain.

You are the flickering flame

of a candle lit in a power outage after an earthquake.

You illuminate my life

but now that you've walked away, only darkness follows me,

a black hole that sucks up and destroys any argument thrown at me.

"Hey, man! You'll be alright. She just wasn't the one.

There are other fish in the sea."

Are there?

You know, just last week, I tripped over my loneliness

and scraped my knee on a broken dream.

And not to sound like a baby but... it really hurts.

And not to sound childish but... it's kinda like a boo-boo

that only a kiss from you can make feel better. 

But truth is, I'm in agony. Wounds like this are all over my body.

See, Cupid didn't have a measly bow and arrow, no--

he had an AK and I am the victim of his drive-by.

I forgive him because he had the best of intentions but 

Damn it! I think my love for you just might kill me.

I'm not one for math, but I fell in love with your geometry.

Seduced by your angles and curves, I wanted to get lost

in your fluctuations and solve for x and y

every time you would lie down next to me.

You were more than a drug, but I was riding high;

you were my ecstasy.

I love you like there is no tomorrow

and even though I know better and the sun will rise again

with you gone, I'm not so certain I will rise again.

You were my best friend.

I could look into your eyes like two crystal balls

and see a future where I'm an old man and you're an old woman

and together we walk, hand in hand. But like 1984,

the Ministry of Truth has erased you and all I have left

are visions of me, an old man-- alone and holding myself.

They say you can kill a man but you can't kill his dreams,

just look at Dr. Martin Luther King; but to be quite honest,

you've killed mine pretty efficiently.

I love you like the glue holding together my sanity.

Maybe I'm going crazy and maybe they need to commit me

but I'm starting to feel like I don't want to leave this darkness

because it is, after all, the last thing you gave to me. 

It's like Stockholm Syndrome and I am a victim.

A cripple caught in a limbo where I'm 

too weak to live but too strong to die.

I love you

I love you I love you I love you

I love you so much, it seems, that I

would rather lay prone, paralyzed in your darkness

than walk upright in someone else's light.