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The broken worlds we hide inside; that’s how we start to die!

Odd Ken

In the end the salt calls the ocean home; and I guess this is why drowning has always been a part of loving you.
ODD KEN

Drown End Home Love Myself Ocean Salt Yourself
Please the night’s cold, not her name again!
ODD KEN

Cold Herself Name Night
Love is a job doer and a man slayer. Both equally efficient, until the taste of it is most felt on the cold side of the ribs.
ODD KEN

Death Equality Feeling Job Love Man Side Taste
These sharp edges you left behind, they cut so deep; and I guess maybe I am just not dying enough.
ODD KEN

Death Deep Edge Enough Hurt Myself
There’s not much I know about forgetting. By which I mean I can hear her name from a distance; and it still breathes cold in my chest.
ODD KEN

Breathe Cold Distance Forget Herself Myself Name
Maybe water is not entirely lost when soaked into sand. Maybe it finds a better resting place to call home; and I hope she did too.
ODD KEN

Better Herself Home Hope Lost Place Rest Water
Respect pain. Every heartfelt word is first born from sadness.
ODD KEN

Born Pain Respect Sadness
No one thing stays the same after a goodbye.
ODD KEN

Change Goodbye Stay
If ever the fall is the ground, someone tell her I’m this close to soil, and I can feel it!
ODD KEN

Fall Feeling Ground Myself
Give everything some time; pain hasn’t learn to walk yet.
ODD KEN

Learning Pain Philosophy Time Walk
I guess there’s so much in your absence that kills my soul from the burning wood to ash.
ODD KEN

Absence Burn Kill Myself Soul Yourself
There’s a constant battle of me and healing; all of which still sits burning and intricately perplexed in ink.
ODD KEN

Battle Burn Healing Ink
And when the cold comes, I swear I can feel her in my bones.
ODD KEN

Bone Cold Feeling Herself Myself Winter
To me there was only ever you!
ODD KEN

Love Myself One Liner Relationship Yourself
Often times the language is different; by which I mean, I love her, and it’s the only stammer I’ve ever known.
ODD KEN

Different Language Love Myself Time
All through the depression, I was the soft toy in the hands of a baby with sharp teeth.
ODD KEN

Children Depression Hands Myself Soft

The broken worlds we hide inside; that’s how we start to die!

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The broken worlds we hide inside; that’s how we start to die!

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