Slow walking
in the street
with the rain
singing my praise

not for my joy
nor my sadness
but only to prove
my existence

we're alike
that's why I'm scared that you'll turn out to be me

Isn’t it funny,
The happiness we pretend to have
Is the very thing
Holding us back from living.

“Falling in love” is a contradiction in itself, because in love there is only the rising, the ascending, not the falling.
You can not fall in love, but rather, rise.

She said "I'm falling in love."

I said "I'm falling apart."

there are two types of sadness

there’s the kind of sadness
we ignore and
try to get rid of it
by finding new things to do
or we find someone to talk to
by blatantly avoiding any type of conversation
about feeling sad
about having any feelings at all
and then there’s that kind of sadness
that takes over
and it consumes any activity we do
we know it’s there
and there’s no possible way to avoid it
so we feed it exactly what it wants
it craves the sad music
it craves the isolation
it craves the anxiousness
and the sadness comes storming in
it has no manners
here we are calling sadness, an “it”
when all it is
is a feeling
that most people
call home

“I am the best thing that ever
walked into your life.” I won’t
ever have to say that to her.
It’s like a Christmas present.
You don’t tell the girl you’re
giving It to what’s in the package.
She has to open it. She has to
tear off the paper and bow.
She will feel it the rest of her
life and cry tears of joy.

TOD HOWARD HAWKS

they buried a poet
sprinkled his words over coffin
tossed a book into dirt alongside
and waited few decades
to have a leaf sprout
for winds to carry his lines
far
to one with open ears
another circle in a world of squares
have phrases strain down the cheeks
into ink smeared on paper


buried in a trashcan
in a diary
in a library
in dirt
everywhere really...

Is is, is it?
Is it not is
or is it?
It is.
It is it.
Or is it is?
Is is.
And is is not.
Is not is.
Is not not is?
Is it?
Oh yes, it is.

(C) KaZAkers

It's 11:11
and for the first time
after a very long time
I'm wishing for myself
and not for you

In a world of dreamers,
are you awake or asleep?

In a realm of promises,
which do you keep?

In a land of tomorrows,
when does he beseech?

Within thoughts of conclusion,
does she retreat?

In the be all end all,
why does she screech.

I think we're all dead now,
we weep
we
weep.

you're so beautiful
and broken inside

didn't love almost
bring you to suicide?

because it wasn't real
did you really think they'd care?

he just wants to use you
he wants to **** the life out of you

its you

not them
you are missing

be aware
of all feeling
held to the image of another
in your mind

and know
its you not they

requires an adjustment

You are not the love of my life,
You are the life of my love ❤️

When I was younger
I once read a book,
That somehow connected with me.

It was bought by my mother
And
It was aptly named, What My Mother Doesn't Know

I'm quite sure my mother knew
Atleast most of what I was up too.
And I was all the better for it.

I still have the book,
I think I'll give it to my own child one day.

your name is
forbidden in
my mouth
or in my heart
because when
i think about
you;

i'll cry a little more,
hurt a little stronger
love a little softer
because you no longer
make me feel sober

i'm drunk on the
memory of you

If you could read my mind,
You’d see a thousand papers
Filled with broken poetries
And deadbeat proses
Full of woeful verses
With mournful pieces
Of unfinished stories
That are yet to be written
And failed to be spoken;
If you could read my mind,
You’d hear horrible screams
And earsplitting weeps
From shattered dreams,
Kept in a nasty notepad,
Scribbled on a bed
Of bloodstained words,
Ringing in my head.
If you could read my mind,
You’d see the shadows
That lurk within me;
You’d hear the bellows,
Screeching the words
“I’m tired,”
“I’m a failure,”
“I’m stupid –”
I know it sounds stupid,
It’s pathetically foolish
And seems like *******.
If you could read my mind,
You’d feel the tears
I had ever failed to cry;
You’d see the people
That make the weak weaker;
You’d see the monsters
That consume my head;
You’d hear the hollers
That failed to be freed;
You’d see the heart
That still bleeds and bleeds.
If you could read my mind,
You’d see the face
I’ve failed to show back then,
The face I’ve faked back then.
If you could read my mind,
You’d see a character
I had ever failed to become
If you could read my mind,
You’d be able to read
A book you never wished
To touch and read,
But sometimes I still wish
Someone could read my mind.

I love him
I tell myself
I know that
We will be together forever
I don’t believe that
We could be separated
My thoughts tell me that
He’s the love of my life
Sometimes my heart lies and says
I could live an eternity
Without him
Like my friends say
“We’re perfect for each other”
And you can’t tell me
He’s not the one.

Now read from bottom to top.

In the deep corners of 3am,
I find her.

Yeah, you're special.
So am I.
So is everybody.
So what?

The emptiness in my eyes,
The truth behind my lies,
The fall before my rise,
And the goodbyes;

It scares me.

The dark beneath my skin,
The light within my sins,
The voice that loudly sings,
And my broken wings;

It scares me.

The wounds I can't heal,
The pain I can't feel,
The loss I can't deal,
And when I am real;

It scares me.

The silence in my little talks,
The stillness in my moonlit walks,
The thought of separate ways,
And my numbered days;

It scares me.

The demons under my bed,
The words spinning in my head,
The blood in my sweat,
And my cold breath;

It scares me.

-Paras Bajaj #PoetrybyParas
Instagram : @mr.parasbajaj