MENTAL PRISON Cages of thoughts are decorated in the prison of my mind. The souls of my thoughts are the inmates of that prison. Each weaves their own story. Some proudly paint themselves as the villains in the mental portrait of their story, while others try to expose their innocence. These inmates, guilty (read evil) or innocent (read angel), are the ones sitting behind the steering wheel and driving the car of my involuntary or voluntary actions. I am urged by them, driven by them. Sometimes the evil and diabolical ones make me to do even more evil things. I follow them blindly. They take me to the edge of the cliff and reward me with their little push. I free fall, free fall in the abyss of pain and misery. But then, I gather my valour and realise that I am the master of my own self, I am the warden of the prison in which they live and thrive. I call my angel inmates and plead them to take the charge. They come with their open wings and helpful heart. They catch me a
