Move it on over little dawg.  
I jump freight trains now.  
I sleep where i want.  
And I gnaw the souls of
better men than you

are.

I don't hear you anymore.
I write my own songs
and I wave away your
charmless melodies

alone.

I hum as I hear the
music of another

lover.

Move it on over
little dawg, the
big dawg moved
right

in.


Caroline Shank

"do you love me?" i asked with utmost uncertainty
he looked at me as he said, "sometimes."
unsettled, unsecured and in limbo, "no guarantee."
he repeated, "no guarantee... at all times."

“i loved you a little“
a little bit of madness
a little bit of sadness
a little bit of life
a whole lot of you

Love is the investment, without a guaranteed return. So check the markets, and seek consultation; lest your capital gets burn.

And your love... unrequited and unheard.

I remember us, the sorry way we slept
        the last night in my bed

The pictures of us hung from briars in my chest
    a nest
                     of infidelity
            uncertainty

Not to another but to a forgotten version

                   of us

for which the other was not
  
                              enough

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She said "I'm falling in love."

I said "I'm falling apart."

There’s only so much
Only so much
Before you suffer
The touch
Of so much
Of so beautiful
Then it becomes
A curse

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

To know you never watched
A single video of mine
Never read
A single poem
Never followed
A single link
These are the parts
That break my heart
Because you don't believe me
When I say I see you
Because you don't see me

Even tho

I'm alone

I know

Where we meet

OCD is not an adjective
It’s not synonym for perfection
It can ruin a life or end one
It’s on par, just as bad as depression
The two often come hand in hand
With anxiety on the side
If you do that 13 times tomorrow your friend won’t die
If you only write on every 4th line
You won’t get sick and die
The demon that lives in my head is trying to save my life
But is instead destroying me from inside.

shirtless screaming through
the heartland and I used
to smoke cigarettes
too.

she never wanted
to stay: the youth
she had
left demanded it.
now, I'll wager
she's somewhere
in an apartment with
some dandy that
wears sweater vests
to Thanksgiving dinner.

maybe she thinks
about me and my little
twisted heart every
now and again:
like when she's away
from the sweater vest
on the toilet
behind a locked door,
"be right out, babe!"
or toting groceries
through a parking lot
to her car,
or signaling a
left turn before
changing her mind
and deciding to
go straight instead.

and
maybe I need to
stop thinking
about her
especially after
three years
incommunicado

but what can I say?
I've never slept on
a bed of nails
I couldn't
dream on.

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

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

I am a fly
attracted to your nacreous glow.

                                           Just swat me already.

i think that the most damaged people in the world
are the kindest
and the softest

because they know
that scabs can be picked
and you can bleed

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

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

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.

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

Invariably,
You prefer to come
To me in the dark.
"You're more my temperature then,"
You once said.
I'm not much of a thermometer,
But I am the eurythmy
To each syllable you give
In such settled shadow.
A play of murmurs and fingertips,
You once named this.
Always I see a wreath in your hair,
In colors of Persia,
Textures of night,
And the soft blended lines
Of you I know
Infallibly.

Every night at 3 am
I cry myself to sleep
I close my eyes
And wish I'd die
Before the morning comes

Every morning at 11 am
I cry when I wake up
'Cause when I open my eyes
I'm still on my bed
Breathing, but not alive

I can't get up all by myself
I wait for Mom to call my name
Does she know?
She doesn't know
That her dear daughter wants to go

I'd go through the day like a normal person
I'd pretend that I'm okay
But I'm still useless
My life's meaningless
Everything is still the same

'Cause the next night at 3 am
I will still cry myself to sleep
I'll close my eyes
And wish I'd die
But the morning would come again