What it means to be mad?

The weight of my mind bares me down, it tangles up the stream of thoughts, the waves of emotions and my line of life all into one imbalanced point, a fine thread between being normal and being mad.
I can’t even see or feel that thread anymore, i neither know whether I’m normal or mad, I’m normal because i say I’m mad, (mad people often see themselves normal) i know I’m not normal because nothing on or in this earth is the way for me, but if i say I’m normal then I’m mad, and if i think in this pattern that must mean I’m mad.
I guess i lost that fine thread the moment i visualized it.
It appears to me in my friend’s smile, in my little brothers satisfaction, in my goals and in my efforts, it appears to me in myself, it appears in parallel, and in pyramidal distinction, it’s a fine thread but it’s the only thing that connects me to reality, to thinking, and to rationality but only in skepticism to all of what’s just said,  skepticism is a black line that approximates the fine thread of madness or in contrast of normality, it margins the madness when skepticism is in the fine law of existing, and the normality when skepticism in the queries of humanity is denied.
The stars are beautiful but they are the reck of something, they are still beautiful though the energy it holds, the distance it travels, it’s marvelous in the dreams they shed upon the eyes of the hopeless, is there any skepticism in those dreams?  But are there any laws that govern them? There is freedom in thought, there is freedom in skepticism, there is no law and normality is to deny what you can’t acquire, madness is to acquire what others skepticise.

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Author: malak94abouras

i never asked to love the words, they have loved me and i have then fallen

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