It mostly feels like
nothing is enough.
The precipice grows
more perilous with
each fall of
my foot.
I scramble
for something to
cling to,
though in my desperation,
I am not
strong enough
to stop the fall.
I have tried to let go,
too many times. 
But three hands
that I would know in life
and in death
and in every space between
reach to pull me back up,
too many times.
Every time. 
It mostly feels like
nothing is enough,
nothing but the hands of
my sisters.