Release.

Fingers disfigured, warped into shape from survival instinct Grass clasped between digits, green knives stabbing at pride, Eyes deceived into a belief that a phantom hand will rescue, Sweat coagulating upon the forehead, seasoning the eyes with pain, Ears receiving only signals from inward sound, the heart the only vibration, Feet casting anchor into stone, to stubborn to believe that they're of no use, The mind wondering if dreams would have remained static, or become realized? The mind contemplating destinations chosen, Failures fornicating, bastard thoughts the product, Illegitimate fears re-emerge to claim their share, The fingers relax, and the fall follows, And then finally; aromatic bliss.