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

so many poems
are about heartbreak
but what about
the leaves we rake?

so many poems
are about loss
but what about
your grandma's tomato sauce?

so many poems
are about love
but what about
your nice winter glove?

if we took a step back
and saw the little things
maybe we wouldn't need as many poems
about depression

and one day
she will realize

her magic

and then
her power
will be

limitless

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

If I ever lose my battle,
Just know that I fought.

I tried real hard to be alive,
And my lost is no one's fault.

Say to them the lies I used to tell,
That I'm okay and everything's well.

keep your eyes closed love.

           e     t      
       m           i
    o                 m
s                        e  
                            s     all you have to
                                                                ­
                                                                ­ l                  to is what the sound
                                                           ­      i            n
                                                  ­                s           e
                                                               ­          t

                                                              ­                               v
                                                               ­                         a        e
                             ­                                          of the  w               s
                                                               ­                                       
                         ­                                                                 ­            tells  you
                                                                ­                                        to do.

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

where do you go
when you shrink yourself
so small?

sometimes i imagine
when you shrink
into this fragile thing,
in some far away place
the pieces of your self you hid
are growing exponentially,
a garden in full bloom.