Born in the medievals
The thoughts of many stray
Hidden wishes not made known
Projective techniques can't get but few

The flames of thoughts that consume me
Leaving a slight blisters of ravishing  pain
A capsule of red and black entwined
like a time bomb shell,
It mars our heart

In the corridor of our heart
Some thought strays out
Ugly pleasures of unconscious wish fulfilments
Driven only by our instinct
But repressed deeply by our Super egos ...
An unconscious folks we grew to have
That represses all abnormal wishes,
Deep down into the sub conscious minds...
Like hunches
We back the thoughts no more....