I’m dangerously alien and you don’t know me; I don’t know me.
I’m weirdly difficult.
The moment I think I know myself is the moment it all starts; the haphazard way of life starts.
And my mind, the queen of labyrinths, begins to play with itself.
I’d like myself to think that I fit in but as soon as myself thinks it, it’s already too late.
I’m dangerous. At least I like to think so; for this situation is pretty much what I live in these days, moreover I do not like to be disturbed.