My last journey

Dear God, these days have drained me of all life. When I thought I couldn't go any deeper into it, I sunk down further. When I thought I couldn't lose anything else, I lost still more. Maybe thinking is what's doing me in.

I guess I don't get the point, and it's not like I ever did. Maybe I just need to see the end of me so you can show me that I'm not really in control. It seems that the end is as near as I want it to be.

I want to walk through the cold and cutting wind and into the forest, to sit under a tree until sleep overcomes me. And never wake up. Let the wind molest me. Let the rain fall down. Let the coyotes tear my flesh. Let the beetles and the mice clean my bones. And let the ravens scatter them.

The sun will bleach my bones. My flesh will return to the earth. And all the things that perplex me, haunt me, drive me, break me, cut me, and laugh at me will cease to exist.

If I lay down under this tree, maybe I won't wake up. Maybe the heart in this chest will heave its last drop of blood and will stay still under the starry skies. My eyes will have closed for the last time, and my ears will have heard enough of this world's troubles.

With a bed of pine needles and a blanket of pain to wrap myself, I'll take my last journey. In the blink of an eye, I will be changed. So changed, I won't even recognize that broken heap of flesh under that distant ponderosa. I won't forget, but it won't seem real anymore. 

For all the loneliness and for all the pain I've seen, I have nothing to show. I'm just a shadow on a blood-stained wall, just a reminder that we all fall and some of us don't get up. This pointless life I've led hasn't taken me anywhere I want to go. At this moment, as I huddle under this tree, I can almost reach out and touch you. And I can almost feel your arms around me.

Dear God, from what I can see, there's nothing left of me. Maybe that's the way it's supposed to be.