Who are they?

Who are they?
Just mortal men,
Bound by the flesh so same,
Downed by the fears so real,
Churned by the grind oh so tough,
Who are they?
Just mortal men,
They sleep sometimes,
See nothing but a rewinded memory,
A flashback,
Maybe a dwindling face,
Or just a voice that brings a smile on their face,
Who are they?
Just mortal men,
They do bleed as well,
The color same as the living,
But they bleed differently,
They dont bleed like the living,
Life doesn’t drain along with their blood,
The adrenaline doesn’t stop it’s flow,
They don’t fear the blood,
They celebrate when they see death,
Oozing out every drop cries to be separated,
The thickness, 
The vigour,
The bravery,
The colossal machinery,
Who are they?
Just mortal men.

Nobody is perfect..

Nobody is perfect. 

But still we stay with imperfect people not because we want to but because there is this feeling of fullness we experience around them. 

Imperfections lead to a beautiful perfection. 

Just like pieces of puzzle that fit in.