Flashback to the present

I stepped out of the house to get the mail, and this is what I came back with:

It was like Scotland outside and I wanted to cry.
Old dead tree still gives life tall crumpled and broken like me real broken heart like me melting skin hard skin scars to match within without the neon green is out of place smile on my face the rain stays stays like nothing else what stays? raw bone of broken twigs wet wet don't know me accept accept accept except for everything else kind air Scotland remembers remembers to keep me breathing mist to me me feet move forward go forward nothing in the end but let it continue know the mist shudders with the leaves wet leaves reaching reaching pull me out of this this this but when I do, what happens next?

I've been listening to classical music on the stereo that plays through the whole house. It helps a little.