Please the night’s cold, not her name again!
ODD KENLove 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.
More Odd Ken Quotes
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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.
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Perhaps I mistook the pain with work in progress.
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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.
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All through the depression, I was the soft toy in the hands of a baby with sharp teeth.
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Like a fractured bone in the ribs, the heart can be painfully heavy sometimes.
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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.
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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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I can sing love; only I’m afraid the lyrics might get shattered again.
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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.
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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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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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You’re gone. And I think I’m only trying to mean a lot to myself too.
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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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The broken worlds we hide inside; that’s how we start to die!
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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 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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Give everything some time; pain hasn’t learn to walk yet.
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I’ve seen it, I know it too; love still dances in the fire after the rescue.
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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.
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Sometimes even in pain we smile to the world until we think we’re dying.
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This ‘missing you’ It begs for water; it cries your name.
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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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No one thing stays the same after a goodbye.
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I guess we all understand the love language fine; but maybe truth is we’re just too fluent in goodbyes.
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After healing I’ll run back to her – of course this poem demands a brutal ending!
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I knew you would leave someday; And from there a poet will be born from the ashes.
ODD KEN