The eyes, a window to the soul,
As a burglar of thoughts I break inside
To scour every crease and fold.
What’s on your mind?
“I AM ME,” the Mind replies
Thick red lines, deep red, graffiti
Painted haphazardly on your psyche
A brick wall, your ego blocks my path.
But cutting retorts are sharper stuff
They slice and shred the barrier
Revealing it to be merely paper
An unrelenting quest for truth.
And I discover softer stuff, mere traces
Of conversation, memories, bad jokes.
I flick the pages, scan the entries. Hmm…
There’s no next chapter.