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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?

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
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 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
Perhaps I mistook the pain with work in progress.
ODD KEN

Mistook Myself Pain Progress Work
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
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’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
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

Break Up Cry Feeling Growth Myself Skin Thinking
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
Sometimes even in pain we smile to the world until we think we’re dying.
ODD KEN

Death Pain Smile Thinking World
Respect pain. Every heartfelt word is first born from sadness.
ODD KEN

Born Pain Respect Sadness
Either the jump or the drown, loving her has always readied me for the fire.
ODD KEN

Drown Fire Herself Love Myself Preparation
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
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
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
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

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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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?

Related Topics

Popular Authors

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