black
grey
blue
red
brown
white

Most days missing her is my only choice between death and dying.

Odd Ken

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
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
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
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.
ODD KEN

Myself See Wall
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
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
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
No one thing stays the same after a goodbye.
ODD KEN

Change Goodbye Stay
I held my breath underwater and felt surrender in my lungs; maybe this too counts as love.
ODD KEN

Breathe Count Love Myself Surrender
Perhaps I mistook the pain with work in progress.
ODD KEN

Mistook Myself Pain Progress Work
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
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
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
Please the night’s cold, not her name again!
ODD KEN

Cold Herself Name Night

Most days missing her is my only choice between death and dying.

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Most days missing her is my only choice between death and dying.

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