Waiting for the Ransom

I’ve been holding myself ransom,
holding out for the big pay out
down here in the basement, cutting

off my ears, my hands, to send
you, taking photos of the sad eyed
me holding today’s paper from another

part of the world where I’m supposedly
held. When I call you, my voice sounds
tinny and far away, because my phones

are rerouted to throw you off track. You’ve always
known there was something I was holding back,
and now you know you’ve been talking with my own

worst enemy all this time. I never planned for it
to go this far. When I first knocked myself out
and pushed my limp body into the back of an

unmarked van, I thought it would last a few
hours, a day or two, but now, I’v had all thse long
conversations with me. I think I’m developing

stockholm syndrome, and I’m having trouble with the fact
that no-one seems to want to pay a ransom for someone
I’ve grown sort of attached to, anyway.


Filed under lust and love, Musings, poetry

3 responses to “Waiting for the Ransom

  1. I like this. Edgy, bizarre and yet, accessible. The whole premise is so clever! And, the last lines are great.

  2. polkadotwitch

    this is such a fun piece. and by fun, i mean fake blood and guts. i love poems that are metaphorically violent and laced with affection. you do that well here. there’s longing, there’s despair, there’s a syndrome, and yes, some solace.

  3. Thank you both so much. I’m slowly able to write a little again. I’m really excited to finally be able to again.

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