I fight to fear another day.
Each step I take,
I exert my last will,
my last bit of strength.

The world has left me cold,
alone, to fight.
I fear what I have become,
and what will become of me.

Each day that passes by makes me stronger,
as I grow weaker.
My bones are brittle,
my heart is shriveled,
but I am one with myself.

I can withstand anything,
weather any storm,
if in the end,
I can build myself back up again.

My will is strong,
my words are one.
I am,
determined,
my mind is clear,
and I will not stop moving forward,
until I die.