Monday, December 24, 2007

Mad and different

I'm happy about all this people fading inside their own ashes. I'm emotionless, I have no heart to share with anyone if i'm not over Olympus, Asgard or SinaĆ­.

I can't imagine life without my own soul. I have a debt with my pride, always looking for eternal fame, as if I was an ancient warrior who wants to fight everything.

I smile widely when I observe all this people wandering and rambling without true aims, when I see the columns of this society are rotten, when I feel this world praises mediocrity. Perhaps there are no gardens in the desert for anyone who wants to live, but I've this sacred light on me.

I'm merry when you call me strange, weird, mad or different. Something is going wrong when being mad is a synonim of being creative, sincere and unique. You people are sad ants. You don't realize you're wasting your life and in the end...what will you tell to your children when you are too old? Boredom in children's eyes, grey sand over your skin, nothing worthy left in your lips, in your hands.

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