.
.
.
It’s hardest when it’s quiet—
when there’s nothing left
to occupy my tired mind.

After the day has taken its toll,
and the bell has rung its last ’til ’morn,

I lie awake.
Struggling.
Fighting.
Failing.
Falling.
Dying.
Again.

Eve­ntually...
rising.

The morning bell tolls—
another chance to heal,
another chance to wound.

I will try.
I will fall.
I will rise.
Again.

Until that final day,
when the bell tolls for me.
.
.
.