cigarette ashes
fly on the wind,
as i stare at my black coffee,
it gazes back at me.
black sobranie,
and i debate;
of all the people,
i find it hard to see
is there something
worth seeking.
just like dust,
i let them go
i never looked back
let them think i'm bore.
you may be
a world unseen,
yet i am so tired
no words flow well enough.
i'll just go lose myself
in paint and doubt
while i stare at my coffee,
and flit around.

i need to sit
and catch my breath
'cause i can't stand
what's going on,
i need a minute
to just hold on.
the world is too fast,
it's spinning about,
i need to stop,
oh, god, help me down.
i need to sit
and cry it out,
i wish emotions
would come out.
it's all blurry,
i'm always in a hurry,
i wish i could
just break the clock
that's ticking down,
make the time
count down.
'cause god, i need to breathe,
but these things
are killing me.
oh god, just one breath,
in the rain, i suffocate.
it all comes down,
it's crashing now,
but i just sit
and try to breathe.

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

im "the happy friend"

the "happy friend" isnt supposed to rely on drugs for happiness

the "happy friend" isnt supposed to wake up everyday, and wish they still were dreaming

the "happy friend" isnt supposed to be the mediator of family fights

the "happy friend" isnt supposed to avoid looking at themselves at certain angles

the "happy friend" isnt supposed to constantly **** in their tummy- making sure they're still paper thin

the "happy friend" isnt supposed to lay in bed- tears welling in their eyes

the "happy friend" isnt supposed to feel the constant weight of the universe resting on their chest

why would i feel that

after all

i am the "happy friend"

I look at someone else's poem
And I see flawlessness.
I look at my own
And I see nothing but flaws.
I write poetry to get away from the bad feelings.
Not to make more.
And it's hard.
Everything is hard.
I've become hard.
Hardened to the beauty of the world.
Hardened to the beauty of poetry.
All I can focus on is my own writing
As I try to be as good
As you.

Been a while since I took them, the little keys to sleep. Unlock codes for unconsciousness, cheat codes for non-committal death.

But tonight the pain is unbearable, the mental wounds are bleeding like they’re fresh. Scenes replaying in my mind constantly, mocking me mercilessly for believing that they’d left.

Time is supposed to be a healer, or so I’ve been told. Time must have missed me off it’s to-do list because  healing is a card I’ve never been dealt.

The pain is effervescent bubbling through my veins and laying heavy on my chest. Tramadol couldn’t even dull it, it demands to be felt.

My only recourse are these tiny promises of temporary respite; I take more than recommended, playing roulette with this life.

It’s been a while since I took them, the little keys to sleep, I wish I could leave them but I’m weak.