Confessions of a vulnerable mind...

Mind is a funny thing,

Strange thoughts locked in,

Sins or virtues, it cares the least,

And the key is just a drink.

You gave him words to ponder on,

Some thoughts to sin upon.

Those small hands, that fragrance, that smile,

Brings comfort and joy,

Or is it, that mind believes what it likes!

Desires gratified or subdued,

Bring frustration alike.

Night left him vulnerable,

He spoke his heart off,

The burden is off him,

But this morning has him wondering,

How you felt, what were your words, your thoughts?

Did he dump his burden on you?

But you seem just like him,

Thrill and passion is what you longed-for.

If mind could tell,

What was right or wrong,

Wouldn’t life be just perfect,

Way too boring, way too long.

It would then be a fable,

And not a story of a mortal soul.

Night is over,

But there is a void,

Words try to fill it, memories make it bitter,

Guess your presence alone does it better.

What remains within,

Is a turmoil , a fight.

This harsh morning light,

As always too bright,

Washes away the sins of the night...