black
grey
blue
red
brown
white

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

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
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
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 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
This ‘missing you’ It begs for water; it cries your name.
ODD KEN

Beg Cry Missing Name Water Yourself
And when the cold comes, I swear I can feel her in my bones.
ODD KEN

Bone Cold Feeling Herself Myself Winter
I can sing love; only I’m afraid the lyrics might get shattered again.
ODD KEN

Afraid Love Lyrics Myself Sing
I’ve been to the countryside a couple of times. Somedays it is all wood and grass and empty. Other days it feels like you!
ODD KEN

Country Feeling Forest Place Time 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
Like her name, some people are best left scrouged on the skin.
ODD KEN

Herself Name People Skin
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
I knew you would leave someday; And from there a poet will be born from the ashes.
ODD KEN

Born Break Up Leaving Myself Poet Yourself
The broken worlds we hide inside; that’s how we start to die!
ODD KEN

Break Death Hide Start World
Somedays depression is tender, as though hurting is just an art; and that maybe she didn’t break me more than enough!
ODD KEN

Art Break Depression Enough Herself Hurting Myself
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

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.

Related Topics

Popular Authors

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.

Related Topics

Popular Authors

More Odd Ken Quotes