I haven't felt so insufficient in a long time.  God please show me the way.

It's chilly outside to the extent of my hard nipples poking high into my shirt, cold raindrops racing down my cheeks alongside warm streams of tears.  I don't understand the point of being here.  I don't understand the point of living, breathing.  I don't want to walk anywhere on this earth anymore.  Here, there, nowhere.  I want to lie down 

and just never, ever wake up.

Now

"It's not so bad,"  he says, life pouring out of his eyes with glowing embers falling down to my ankle.

I'm not so sure, I think, as the tick tocking of the terrible clock, with each click, pulsates my temple.

The universe has boiled down.  There was a time when the pot overflowed with hot summer leaves and cold water from the garden hose.

I'm down to the bottom of the pot now - drying tree twigs lying lifeless against the cast iron.