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I’m a drunk poet; and I guess maybe I sipped too much of what I couldn’t buy of her.

Odd Ken

I’ve been quiet most of today. By which I mean I can see myself in the mirror; And believe me it is something hard to look at these days.
ODD KEN

Believe Hard Myself Quiet
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
Please the night’s cold, not her name again!
ODD KEN

Cold Herself Name Night
I guess this has been my confusion; where I went wrong. Thinking that love could possibly come as a thing without the burns.
ODD KEN

Burn Confusion Love Myself Possible Thinking Wrong
I can feel the dust of her skin in my skin; and I think maybe that means these bones of mine have grown weary of crying too.
ODD KEN

Break Up Cry Feeling Growth Myself Skin Thinking
I swear I love her so much that somedays I can’t quite tell if I’m just a good liar.
ODD KEN

Goodness Herself Love Lying Myself Quite Talk
Sometimes even in pain we smile to the world until we think we’re dying.
ODD KEN

Death Pain Smile Thinking World
I don’t think the world is ever getting better; I guess maybe people just find new ways to hide what kills them.
ODD KEN

Hide Kill Myself People Thinking Way World
Breathe in the pain and bring out the wounds. It’s only a process and you’ll learn to survive the rest.
ODD KEN

Breathe Learning Pain Rest Survive Wound Yourself
I forget how our story started; but these days I’m finding the missing pieces behind every exhale, where I left the words standing with sore feet.
ODD KEN

Forget Missing Myself Pieces Stand Start Story
To heal is to be constantly reminded that once you learn to punch, you die with blood on your wrist.
ODD KEN

Blood Death Hands Healing Learning Wisdom Yourself
I can sing love; only I’m afraid the lyrics might get shattered again.
ODD KEN

Afraid Love Lyrics Myself Sing
I held my breath underwater and felt surrender in my lungs; maybe this too counts as love.
ODD KEN

Breathe Count Love Myself Surrender
In the end not every bleeding thing dies; at least, not like a paper plays in fire.
ODD KEN

Blood Death End Fire Paper Play
After healing I’ll run back to her – of course this poem demands a brutal ending!
ODD KEN

Brutal Demand End Healing Myself Poem Run
I guess you’re the bee and the stings all at once; By which I mean you’re the reason I wrap these tired bones around every aching thing.
ODD KEN

Bone Heart Broken Myself Reason Tired Yourself

I’m a drunk poet; and I guess maybe I sipped too much of what I couldn’t buy of her.

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I’m a drunk poet; and I guess maybe I sipped too much of what I couldn’t buy of her.

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Popular Authors

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