Maybe hate is just an aspect,
means of time that was or will
do, or spill, eventually, ****
the love we drowned in, remained still...

Maybe hate is another form,
a state of matter, a lapse of reason,
a part of a personal, secret decision,
to save our mind, to protect freedom...

Maybe I have learned to lie
unconsciously to unlearn love,
making excuses to stop,
hoping to run again a year above...

Maybe I've forgotten truth
by will and by a certain choice,
to give my utmost shame a voice,
to take a beating without cause...

Maybe all the time I've known
the difference, but that is, hence
torn up in bitter ignorance'
twisted, deep, black, blissful hands.

This is what will I do, I will sample my most important memories and associate a symbol with them. The symbols will be connected. With each symbol, the actual memory episode can be reached and reconstructed. Registering each moment of life would be unnecessary, but with identifying the key episodes and moments of time and their points in space (that is perceived relatively), the actual life could be copied into another human consciousness.

Quite weird things are these...

I'm sorry, I'm not perfect
I'm sorry, I'm not like the others
I'm sorry, I don't care about anything.

You want to change me
You want me to be just like you
And just like everyone else.
You want to throw my close away.

You want me to listen to your song,
You want me to act like you
But where not the same
Where not the same
I think you know it.

I'm sorry, I'm not perfect
I'm sorry, I'm not like the others
I'm sorry, I don't care about anything.

Stop changing who I am
Stop telling me that I will be cool
And fit with the others.

I just want to be free
And run to my own
But you can't tell me anything
Cause I can do what I want

I don't want to be like others
So break away from the chains
But here comes the worst part.

I'm sorry, I'm not perfect
I'm sorry, I'm not like the others
I'm sorry, I don't care about anything…

Just cause I'm different
I don't want to do judge at
I don't want to be beaten up
I don't want to be looked down at
For the worst part is what.

I have to go through and I will it, it's the price
I'm not an alien where both humans
We all have a heart and belong to the same place
It's not cool to be a bully
And I think we both know it.

I'm sorry, I'm not perfect
I'm sorry, I'm not like the others
I'm sorry I don't care about anything.

Please let me be happy
Please let me be your friend
Even when we're not the same.
Please don’t treat me like I’m different.

I'm sorry, I'm not perfect
I'm sorry, I'm not like the others
I'm sorry I don't care about anything.

me and her we barely talk
like spies for different governments
I've tried extracting information
but I'm cut off, passing out
and I wake up every time
17, heart-broken with silence

blank stares scan my every evening
somehow I am still invisible
turning this into a cold green light
to explore the dark corridors of my heart
my thoughts turn to microfilms
and battle plans and secret blueprints
my cover's hanging by a thread

I'm now a fugitive with everything to lose
a secret agent in love with their handler,
the disembodied string of signs on glowing screen
how much emptier than this is it possible to get

because there is no home
and you can't just go back to the agency
one wrong step and charges vary
from espionage to treason
and there've never been any right moves
at all

so now it's back to basics

Many a times I find my mind is static just at best,
my lungs are damaged, and I'm empty in my chest.
The days are lagging, painfully dragging, the time is ticking slow,
then looking at the calendar, I wonder where did this month go?

Nothing to gain but buckets of rain,
and a ton of empty air,
and you could feign to feel some pain,
but the in the end, no one would care.

You're feeling right when you fight,
and you dabble in defense,
and last night you were playing scrabble
but every word lacked sense.
You coat your spleen in nicotine and claim to live just fine,
but you're getting thin, lacking every vitamin,
"you really should get more sunshine."

Nothing to gain but buckets of rain,
and some grass that could be more green,
and you could claim that you're still sane,
but no one knows what that word means.

Many of strangers bring on danger, but most will treat you well,
and with the heat coming from the street,
you'd think I'd be on my way to Hell.
The one you love most is now a ghost,
and you're overcome with dread,
and it's not a faze, we really do praise,
the ones that are now dead.

Nothing to gain but buckets of rain,
and some thoughts that were never there,
and you could feign to feel some pain,
but in the end, no one would care.