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George Krokos Jun 11
It'd be nice to have a *** belly stove
to sit up close to like a treasure trove
in those moments when you'd be alone
depending on no one else who's prone;
and sit there beside it in its afterglow
with nothing to think about or to know
for its warmth would give you strength
in cold days where you'll be at length
to immerse yourself in another world
that would open up before you unfurled
and where you'd be safe from any menace
lurking behind all the darkness or surface
of those places hidden in your child's mind
to wander about in with some friendly kind.
Written early in 2020 after thinking what would it be like to have a potbelly stove in the house?.....hmmm
Marri Jan 30
Where did I go wrong?
Was it when burnt rubber filled the cold morning air?
Or was it laid against you with your fingers lost in my knotted hair?

Where did you go wrong?
That's something only the universe knows.
Broken, twisted, beautiful--that's how the heart grows.

Ask again: Where did you go wrong?
The answer is in the breeze.
The answers are in the trees.
The answer is not you, but me.

Where did we go wrong?
We watered the weeds growing in our flowerbeds.
We simply left the stove on, and the house burnt red.
We danced in the streets, only to be dead.

Tell me—
Was our love wrong?
Avondale Kendja Nov 2016
all the flakes on a *** tattle years
of gas, oil, matches
flames that spread vitriol

they swell into tickles on thin ribs
where old skin will one day ripple like mayo
over water
gabriela Jun 2016
when you left, it didn't feel real.
it was like leaving the stove on before
i went out with my friends
on purpose.
like i knew there was nothing worth
coming home to,
so i didn't.
Roxxanna Kurtz Feb 2015
If I could sweep away
my memories,
you would fall beneath
the underside of my stove
with the dust
forgotten things.
*And I'll not think twice
about leaving you there.
Asa D Bruss Oct 2014
I'm so tired O,
tell me a man would sleep
til dinner time.
Tell me a woman would sleep
til tea.
But I shan't be able to sleep
past the sunrise, no.
Not as long as the water is wet;
so long as it sits in the sea.
D'ud'r de amish kam ihkazee.
De darken'd cam-ami'zeen.
All running over the inset pain relieving incantations.
Through the traces of several places
as we crawl into the stove.
Half alive, half steryl
like the pages of a magazine.
If you have trouble pronouncing it just BS it, and sound like the sweedish chief. (That's what I was doing)
J M Surgent Feb 2012
I know, I know
I’ve been told so many times to give it up.
That what happened when I wasn’t there
Was what made her the girl I loved
But the problem is, now that we’ve moved on
She’s still the girl I loved
She’s still the girl who is liked
And I’m still the guy who is not.

You can’t necessarily turn feelings off,
I mean I have, but it wasn’t good
It kind of ended in misery, to be honest.
I think thats why she’s gone,
In a way I mean, on top of disasters past, and
Mainly because of everything we said to one another.

It kills me, you know, knowing she’s fine
That she’s probably gone on and found some other, new guy,
While I sit here at night, writing line after line
Of sad poetry and lyrical lies.
I’m sure he’s taller, of course, she likes that a lot,
She always wanted love taller than 5’9”.

It kills me, you know, knowing she’s fine
While I’m sitting alone at home,
Cooking dinner for one over an open stove.
Writing these god awful, sad sappy poems
That no one will ever even read.
It kills me, you know, knowing she’s fine
All the while I’m sitting at home
Slowly burning inside.

— The End —