when walking home with coffee in my hand,
i feel no pressures from the life i live,
like anything at all i could withstand;
this girl could probably climb a mountain.
the clouds, they melt like ice beneath my feet,
and time, it molds as once i called it near;
never ceasing to withdraw its teeth,
or helping to subside the things i fear.
I reach a hand out to the dreams I pass,
the stitchings that have held are now withdrawn;
letting go of that which held them back,
the inhibition's lining has been torn.
and all the things before that seemed to fall
have paved my way and matter not at all.