black
grey
blue
red
brown
white

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

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

Break Up Buy Drink Herself Myself Poet Relationship
Like her name, some people are best left scrouged on the skin.
ODD KEN

Herself Name People Skin
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
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?
ODD KEN

Fire Lose Love Need Philosophy
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’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 can sing love; only I’m afraid the lyrics might get shattered again.
ODD KEN

Afraid Love Lyrics Myself Sing
Either the jump or the drown, loving her has always readied me for the fire.
ODD KEN

Drown Fire Herself Love Myself Preparation
Most days missing her is my only choice between death and dying.
ODD KEN

Choice Death Herself Missing Myself
I held my breath underwater and felt surrender in my lungs; maybe this too counts as love.
ODD KEN

Breathe Count Love Myself Surrender
I guess we all understand the love language fine; but maybe truth is we’re just too fluent in goodbyes.
ODD KEN

End Goodbye Language Love Myself Truth Understand
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 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
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
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
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
Pain is never too weak to leave the body still standing or laughing the same.
ODD KEN

Body Laughter Leaving Pain Stand Weakness
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
You’re gone. And I think I’m only trying to mean a lot to myself too.
ODD KEN

Break Up Myself Thinking Try
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
Respect pain. Every heartfelt word is first born from sadness.
ODD KEN

Born Pain Respect Sadness
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
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’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
I’ve seen it, I know it too; love still dances in the fire after the rescue.
ODD KEN

Dance Fire Love Myself Rescue See
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 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.

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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.

Related Topics

Popular Authors

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