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Stockholm Syndrome
I was taken a prisoner of love,
It was subtle like the flight of a dove.
He used his arms as rope,
His tongue as poison,
And told me we should elope.
He took me in his car
And we drove away very far.
I didn't know where he took me, no not a clue,
But he kept on telling me the lie,"I love you."
Finally he did, what he came here to do:
He ripped my beating heart out of my chest.
When I wouldn't stop crying
He told me to give it a rest.
How could I give it a rest when my heart is torn out of my chest and laying right beside me?
That monster doesn't have the key to make me happy.
I thought he made me Queen of his kingdom.
That day I figured out it was just Stockholm Syndrome.
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