There was a man way back when I had no guts, no spine in my back.
There was a time when I had no cares. When it seemed as though these blurs were only fears.
There was a man that would cross the street with worries of dying; this man is no longer me.
Though still a boy my slate is clean
Time isn't yet an object to me.
I'm still waiting
building up everything
until I stand up and shout out
all my desires, my flaws, my intentions, my calls, my findings, my lusts, all my thoughts are disgust, my hates, my passions, my thoughts are all scars, my fears, my dreads, my knacks, my habits, my addictions, predictions, my dramatics, it's a terrible condition in which I'm found, over analyzing all the key parts of my life, ultimately compromising happiness if there was ever a chance.
If you have no spine, you have no chance.
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