Stockholm syndrome

your full red lips
pressed on mine
mine are losing color

you tell me i’m not your puppet
but the string attached to the corners of my lips
beg to differ
smile, you whisper
I beg you not to, but i’ll never say
I can’t, anyway.

But you know.

you’ve taken away all these words
and you never considered that i live off them

my face has turned grey
my hair white
in monotonousness i decease
but you’ve never made me feel alive
so that’s alright

maybe i was never meant to be
and i likely never believed otherwise.