what a day

my hands are cold and my matches are wet I've gathered my wood but no fire yet. my wood is wet and smoke fills the sky's that same brutal smoke burns the eyes. finally the fire bursts into flames burned the hair off my arms what a lame I cut my left hand while opening a can my other hand still throbbing where I burned my right hand I can't stop the bleeding from the cut on my hand I try to get up but I'm to weak to stand. I can't catch my breath and I'm fading fast took one more breath and that was my last.