G.7

Seldom would you abuse the past to get on point of your whereabouts, the who what and when how the story sprouts.. Gettin' drunk to drown out yesteryear, it is part of our lives to bless the sphere, push or collide we deflected fear.. For unknown reasons it was always beefin' season, death my dear.. What it was, who knows, a lack of conscience what I hear.. I can't blame those who put a lease on their life from the block, when it's up its underneath and behind, book of plots.. It remains though, a scar in your spirit, plenty of merit, were you defined or opposes.. The character comes behest of the self, I impose.. Too many wear it, they fiend for the trend when exposed.. Start to lean with it, through the lens of a dream, one of those.. But I contest, do what it means, manifest from the mold.. Express yourself as best as how've you grown..