An Obsessed Mind Full of Obscured Thoughts

On the way of choosing my path, right or wrong I lost my mind Thoughts are there stored enough to perplex, waves of words blew all along the way, unclear, be more precise else I might be caught, caught in a couch tied with a string, after when the precision came It came, stayed roamed, gathered all along, tied into a single knot, which finally I tried to untie but burnt, burnt in the very own place of where it was born So now precision might not be the concern Something more, more precise than the precision Perhaps more accepting and acknowledging By thinking this way, once again lost, lost into the whirlpool dying deep down of thinking what is indeed needed to be thought by this mind, of what really is it trying to do with me?