Is this what we call "madness"?

Here I am, another mind trapped in itself and its states, reflecting an ordinary story. Trapped in time and limited in space, I strive to reveal my very own coordinates after the wild wind. To do so, without abiding by cultural references, I stray between the abstract and the literal, often confusing them as a single universe. But they must be a mirror to each other, as certain as the fact that the ability to extend this logical flow for more than a paragraph does not exist in me. Is this what we call "madness"?