As a transitive verb
Rolls off his tongue
Into my ear
And suddenly there is a firing
Of every neuron in my brain
And I have trouble discerning
Whether it is the feeling of
A thousand butterflies
Or a nervous breakdown

And I hated him for it–
My previous lover
And the lingering malice
He left with me as I vanished

I pray that this time
I can love for the sake of pure love
Instead of giving in to Stockholm Syndrome


About savannahlyn

I write to articulate what my tongue cannot
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