The broken worlds we hide inside; that’s how we start to die!
ODD KENLike her name, some people are best left scrouged on the skin.
More Odd Ken Quotes
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No one thing stays the same after a goodbye.
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Either the jump or the drown, loving her has always readied me for the fire.
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I can sing love; only I’m afraid the lyrics might get shattered again.
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To heal is to be constantly reminded that once you learn to punch, you die with blood on your wrist.
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Often times the language is different; by which I mean, I love her, and it’s the only stammer I’ve ever known.
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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.
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Somedays depression is tender, as though hurting is just an art; and that maybe she didn’t break me more than enough!
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I guess there’s so much in your absence that kills my soul from the burning wood to ash.
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In the end the salt calls the ocean home; and I guess this is why drowning has always been a part of loving you.
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It is my dying wish to travel around the world; to feel this hurt in a slightly different way!
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Give everything some time; pain hasn’t learn to walk yet.
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Respect pain. Every heartfelt word is first born from sadness.
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What if love has always been the quench and the fire? or perhaps all we need to lose to find all we need to have?
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In the end not every bleeding thing dies; at least, not like a paper plays in fire.
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Pain is never too weak to leave the body still standing or laughing the same.
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Please the night’s cold, not her name again!
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If ever the fall is the ground, someone tell her I’m this close to soil, and I can feel it!
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You’re gone. And I think I’m only trying to mean a lot to myself too.
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I don’t think the world is ever getting better; I guess maybe people just find new ways to hide what kills them.
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Today I can see the cracks on the wall they’re visible; but I can tell they are finding their way to soil, And so am I.
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I held my breath underwater and felt surrender in my lungs; maybe this too counts as love.
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There’s a constant battle of me and healing; all of which still sits burning and intricately perplexed in ink.
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Sometimes even in pain we smile to the world until we think we’re dying.
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To me there was only ever you!
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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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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