Maybe I am Mad.

"puıɯ ʎɯ uı ssǝupɐɯ ǝɥʇ puɐʇsɹǝpun oʇ ʎɹʇ"

-ǝɯ ɥʇıʍ pɐɯ ʇǝƃ llıʍ noʎ ǝqʎɐɯ-

"Am I mad?"

That's the question what I make me all the time.

"Am I right?"

Because if they all say that my mind is damaged, 

Why do I feel this way it should have to be?

Not damage, not broken:

just full of madness.

When I see the stars in the dark sky,

and when the moon shine alone in the night,

the shadows tell me: come to us, we can fly in dark worlds,

but well, I don't trust them

and then they laugh of me with her guttural voices.

They scream my name in the nothing and then...

Only silence cover my body.

A silence with a thousand souls dancing in it.

"Am I dreaming?"

Can this be true?

Dream with the demons that live INSIDE you?

The fears, the lies, the evil...

Dream with the tears of times ago, the daggers that cut the chest,

the arms and the heart?

A mountain of fire burning all.

Shine in the high highs,

spits fire and a thousand diamonds flying from one side to another.

The exploding in my head...

"Am I weak?"

Weakness is a talent.

People say: you've to be STRONG.

WEAKNESS is for cowards.

And the cowards are the bastards of the society,

because nobody wants to recognise them.

But I think weakness is something more that just a debility:

I think weakness is the strong of the weak

In my own weakness, I am the stronger and the strongest

can't hurt me.

"Am I weird?"

Yes, I think I'm weird.

I'm an adult, but I act like a child.

I'm a worker, but I feel my work is like a game.

I play with my job and my job is my toy.

I can talk about dragons and wizards for hours,

I can talk about a Capitol and a Mockingjay,

I can talk about fairies and princess,

and wolfs and white walkers.

I can wear black for the rest of my life,

o maybe use the colors of the mist.

I can talk in Elvish language or in Dothraki too.

I can use spells and cooking potions.

I don't combing my hair most all the time and sometimes i do.

I can be quiet or noisy.

Calm or hyperactive.

A pacific lake or an tormentous sea.

"Am I Mad?"

I think I am Mad.
And I like that, because of my life were simple
and the madness will disappear of her,
Maybe I will transform me in a grey lump,
and the grey lumps are the worst people in the world.

So, in this time, yeah...
Maybe I am Mad.

There is a battle.

There is a battle inside my head.

There is a land, cover of bones and ashes,

they paint everything in white and grey from east to west

and rivers of tears and lakes of blood, cover all in the valleys.

There is a mountain with fire and ice.

There are dragons who want to eat it all.

And warriors who fight in a eternal war.
Knight who try to kill the demons,
but they are burned by the flames of a thousand winged hell.

There, in the black sky, an angel fly

and the demons around him shine with a dark light.

The deads fight with the mortals,
in the land of the war, the souls rise to the heaven or fall in to the hell,
and my fears try to keep me on the floor.

Broken.
A thousand of pieces of me are in the dirty floor.
I'm trying to get up, trying to keep me strong.
My deep universe, crash with the walls of the infinite.
The dark bottom of the nothing follow my steps.
The monsters of the night come to torture me,
and a several times, they win in the fight.

I'm tired.

I don't want to fight anymore.
I want to keep dreaming that the stars take me to their worlds,
and the lands beyond, in the limit of understanding galaxies,
I want to stay in bed, watching and listening.
Trying to dissolve my body into the nothing
and take part into the universe,
and transform me in a comet.

But that is just a dream, because the war is never end.
The guns and the bombs exploded in my mind,
and the granates make me bleeding inside.

There is a battle in my mind,
demons and angels forever will fight,
for save me or lose me.

There is a battle from the inside,
and the war on my madness,
maybe never have an end,
and if something I know
is that they never will leave me forget.

There is a battle,
a battle in my head.

No face, no fear.

I can feel it in my bones.

I can feel it in my ashes.

Near of my disaster,

soon, like a breaking dawn in the south.

The cold wind of the north told me once:

they come...

in the winter, they live...

in the snow, they wait...

in your death, they rise.

Fear can cover your soul, as a crust of ice,

fear can brake you will,

can make with you mind a lonely desert,

a white sea of nothing.

Fear can hurt you,

can stop you,

can kill you.

But in the shadows of the sorrow,

in the river of the tears,

where the fairies dance with the light of the moon,

where the elves play his music with the rise of the sun,

and where the mermaids sing at the sea,

the hope bright like a star in the sky

and her light shows you the face of your fear.

Your fear have not a face,

what the wind of the north said,

remains like an maleficent lie.

When you unmask your fears,

there is nothing can hurt you again.

When you fight with the sahdows, with the eternal night,

there is nothing can broke you.

When there is no face,

there is no fear.