Revenge of the Poet's Chair

[TranquillityBase]

I would have to say
I’m feeling heartless today,
a piece of furniture
that has become aware:
I don’t fit though doors,
I’m sentenced to this room
made of ice
or is it glass
and the ice is outside?
I can project my mind to other times
no wooden legs.
And to think,
I resented going upstairs!
Now he sits in me
stealing my thoughts
but I will put him to sleep
with a Tomten lullaby.
The oil heater he brought in
taught me spontaneous human combustion.
In forty minutes or so
he will immolate from within
leaving only a black outline
where my consciousness consumed him.

[busker]

I would have to say
I’m feeling heartless today,
a piece of furniture
that has become aware:
I don’t fit though doors,
I’m sentenced to this room
made of ice
or is it glass
and the ice is outside?
I can project my mind to other times
no wooden legs.
And to think,
I resented going upstairs!
Now he sits in me
stealing my thoughts
but I will put him to sleep
with a Tomten lullaby.
The oil heater he brought in
taught me spontaneous human combustion.
In forty minutes or so
he will immolate from within
leaving only a black outline
where my consciousness consumed him.

It’s posted in Fun, so unsolicited feedback below:
It’s a fine poem that would benefit with some editing. In green is a line that’s a bit clunky and can be improved.
This stuff is at a very high level of poetry, Yeatsian, really.

[TranquillityBase]

busker, thanks for the read.  ain't it always favorite lines (the ice part) that need to go?

yes, spontaneous human combustion is a train wreck, i'll work on it.