Stockholm Syndrome

The fire.
It hurts, but often its too beautiful to pull your fingers from it.

All too tempting to let the ocean of warm colours dance across the skin of your hand.
Prickling and bubbling and destroying the flesh, the closer you get to the cold blue in the middle.

The fire reminds me of his hands.

Pulling the binds tighter around my body and heart, shrink wrapping my eyes with tears of confusion.

A man never looked so beautiful as he did, the moment he handed me a glass of water.
It seemed to turn golden for a moment in the warmth of the gesture,
Belied by eyes of ice.

I don't know why I love him.
I just do.
Perhaps he's too good to me.

The fire.
The closer you get to the cold blue in the middle,
The more it hurts.
The more it burns.

_________________________________________

Hey guys!

It HAS been a while indeed. =)

This is my first poem in around half a year, perhaps longer, perhaps less long, but I felt the sudden need to write a poem about something I'm obsessed with.

This one was bashed out rather quickly, and I'll probably write another, better one on the subject, but this'll do for now. ;)

Stockholm Syndrome is a most interesting topic. Its about kidnap victims falling in love with their captors and a wonderful subject for a poem. =)

I hope this one gets me going again!

Kat x