Tattletale

Is life a tattletale? 

It always ends up spilling a bean

of the not so joyous days 

and the unuttered truths I behold within. 

Or may it be an X-ray vision, 

that let's it peek through

the leathered cover, 

the crumbled pages of my diary, 

which accounts of my blinded vision, 

the flimsy layer of water that succumbs my eyes, 

the pillow talks I am often numb about, 

and all remorse I sulk blatantly. 

It makes me wonder truely

that how on earth do you know of all the lights

that have been exchanged for melancholy. 

For I am no man who speaks, 

who has learnt to smile without giving a clue. 

Then how do you know about me 

more than myself, 

Mom and Dad

Am talking about you! 

Wrote this one for my parents, who have some sorta superpower!