Dreams are so sore and so whole, so beautiful and sad at the same time, but now are by halves. I'm an expert on sleep, eat and complain. I'm the king of irony, the coldness and brutality. I Master the art of doing absolutely nothing. I'm so clumsy I fall up on flat surfaces. Cry for bullshit and still watch children's drawings. But you know what? It's my way of being, and do not change for anyone. I prefer being labeled "weird" than "normal". And with a broken heart, I carry on.