#lovebomb - Hello Poetry

you said, “let’s make pancakes.” and i said sure, like i always do when i’m not sure what else to say. flour dusts the air, tiny ghosts of what we were yesterday. the bowl’s too small, but so are we, so maybe that’s fair. eggshells crack like secrets. we pretend not to notice. you stir too long. i stir too soft. love burns if you look away too often. and maybe that’s what this is. half-cooked affection. a sticky situation. you drizzle syrup like confession, slow and deliberate; golden, heavy, a little too sweet, a little too late. we talk about nothing. we talk about everything. you laugh, and the sound lands like butter melting, sliding off the edge of the pan, gone before it sizzles. i flip one. it tears. you say, “it’s fine.” but i see it in your eyes. you liked it better whole. you say, “we’re messy.” i say, “we’re breakfast.” you don’t laugh this time. the silence hums like the stovetop, low, constant, dangerous if left on too long. syrup pools between the plates, like spilled apologies, too thick to clean. you dip your fork in, taste it, and say, “still good.” still good. and maybe that’s us. pancakes gone cold, edges crisp with all the things we didn’t say, but still somehow soft in the middle. i watch you take another bite. i want to ask if you mean it. but the fork scrapes and the moment is gone. and love, like syrup, sticks to everything it touches.

0

Nov 11, 2025

Nov 11, 2025 at 5:00 PM UTC

dysternally

maple syrup

you said, “let’s make pancakes.” and i said sure, like i always do when i’m not sure what else to say. flour dusts the air, tiny ghosts of what we were yesterday. the bowl’s too small, but so are we, so maybe that’s fair. eggshells crack like secrets. we pretend not to notice. you stir too long. i stir too soft. love burns if you look away too often. and maybe that’s what this is. half-cooked affection. a sticky situation. you drizzle syrup like confession, slow and deliberate; golden, heavy, a little too sweet, a little too late. we talk about nothing. we talk about everything. you laugh, and the sound lands like butter melting, sliding off the edge of the pan, gone before it sizzles. i flip one. it tears. you say, “it’s fine.” but i see it in your eyes. you liked it better whole. you say, “we’re messy.” i say, “we’re breakfast.” you don’t laugh this time. the silence hums like the stovetop, low, constant, dangerous if left on too long. syrup pools between the plates, like spilled apologies, too thick to clean. you dip your fork in, taste it, and say, “still good.” still good. and maybe that’s us. pancakes gone cold, edges crisp with all the things we didn’t say, but still somehow soft in the middle. i watch you take another bite. i want to ask if you mean it. but the fork scrapes and the moment is gone. and love, like syrup, sticks to everything it touches.

58

Alluring dark-brown mysteries Extolled her imperfections Blue-gray serenity Kept their time-bombs ticking Fragile and dismantled upon arrival His jaded glass dark as night What presented simple But came from IKEA Manifested anxieties left to fester The organ’s sound halts in whiplash One-day shipping An expensive return label Ominous unresolvable mysteries Words which passed once easy Now traversing trapdoors Her reflection looked suspiciously good A pulse with the force of a hurricane. “Would you like to be my power of attorney?” A small crack in her mirror inched… “It would mean ultimate control, dot dot dot” Increasingly noticeable nearby foley Warnings of imminent danger And a stream of cunning blood running… A lip line with a hook In a padlock’s darkness Denies her golden key “All lights out.” Sweat pours as her shadow contorts Dimensions of her familiar safety, enclosed And a whisper from the blind… “For me.” Golden Skies Black Eyes Burning Desire So Magnanimous — It’s hard to breathe. You could just choke… Ingrained. Articulated. Manipulation. Covertly watered and tended to after dusk A Stockholm Syndrome Food-Chain Insecurities… No Security… Overworks… An Overworked Vessel… Into Silence. 𝒞.𝒫.ℛ. ❁ 7.20.23

0

Jul 20, 2023

Jul 20, 2023 at 1:05 PM UTC

charitypaige

Infiltrated

Alluring dark-brown mysteries Extolled her imperfections Blue-gray serenity Kept their time-bombs ticking Fragile and dismantled upon arrival His jaded glass dark as night What presented simple But came from IKEA Manifested anxieties left to fester The organ’s sound halts in whiplash One-day shipping An expensive return label Ominous unresolvable mysteries Words which passed once easy Now traversing trapdoors Her reflection looked suspiciously good A pulse with the force of a hurricane. “Would you like to be my power of attorney?” A small crack in her mirror inched… “It would mean ultimate control, dot dot dot” Increasingly noticeable nearby foley Warnings of imminent danger And a stream of cunning blood running… A lip line with a hook In a padlock’s darkness Denies her golden key “All lights out.” Sweat pours as her shadow contorts Dimensions of her familiar safety, enclosed And a whisper from the blind… “For me.” Golden Skies Black Eyes Burning Desire So Magnanimous — It’s hard to breathe. You could just choke… Ingrained. Articulated. Manipulation. Covertly watered and tended to after dusk A Stockholm Syndrome Food-Chain Insecurities… No Security… Overworks… An Overworked Vessel… Into Silence. 𝒞.𝒫.ℛ. ❁ 7.20.23

47

I stand before you my pieces put together in shapes that do not cut when you get close edges turned onto myself press your lights against my chest the coloured pieces of my hurt shine in a mosaic "you are so fragile, love" "let me take care of you" My eyes are closed and I let myself be swallowed into your words they are cold but embracing possessive and enveloping Cradled and helpless my pieces shift for the mold you've made you tell me my pain is beautiful and I let you eat my pieces up until there is no more of me and there I am, an empty shell looking to be filled seeking for the hands and hoping they give me back I don't know who I am without you.

0

Jun 27, 2020

Jun 27, 2020 at 7:48 PM UTC

Satsuchii

Saviour Complex

I stand before you my pieces put together in shapes that do not cut when you get close edges turned onto myself press your lights against my chest the coloured pieces of my hurt shine in a mosaic "you are so fragile, love" "let me take care of you" My eyes are closed and I let myself be swallowed into your words they are cold but embracing possessive and enveloping Cradled and helpless my pieces shift for the mold you've made you tell me my pain is beautiful and I let you eat my pieces up until there is no more of me and there I am, an empty shell looking to be filled seeking for the hands and hoping they give me back I don't know who I am without you.

24

I feel like I'm in that cycle again Where you fill me so much of your love until I'm drunken by it To make me fall deeply in love with you And once I do, you step back, you hold back The confusion game begins I start to wonder, what have I done wrong? Am I not enough for you? Or am I too much? Is there someone else? When you don't look at me the way you used to, Who do you look at? When you don't tell me you love me, Who do you tell it to? When you... I've wondered and often so wondered These doubts pushed me to hold back just the same To go back to doing things on my own To build a wall around me Higher than me, higher than you I'd be strong for awhile But you always had your way of breaking through that wall Again and again And then the cycle of the game begins

0

Jun 1, 2020

Jun 1, 2020 at 8:29 PM UTC

cfaithtagle

The Game

I feel like I'm in that cycle again Where you fill me so much of your love until I'm drunken by it To make me fall deeply in love with you And once I do, you step back, you hold back The confusion game begins I start to wonder, what have I done wrong? Am I not enough for you? Or am I too much? Is there someone else? When you don't look at me the way you used to, Who do you look at? When you don't tell me you love me, Who do you tell it to? When you... I've wondered and often so wondered These doubts pushed me to hold back just the same To go back to doing things on my own To build a wall around me Higher than me, higher than you I'd be strong for awhile But you always had your way of breaking through that wall Again and again And then the cycle of the game begins

22

To Love is to offer someone your heart strapped to a stick of dynamite; and trusting they never light the fuse

0

Dec 8, 2014

Dec 8, 2014 at 7:58 PM UTC

samanaxoxo

Love Bomb

To Love is to offer someone your heart strapped to a stick of dynamite; and trusting they never light the fuse

1