I wake beneath a leaden sky,
No reason clear, no answer why.
Just one more day inside this head,
That whispers soft: you’re better dead.

The mirror shows a ghostly trace,
Of someone lost behind a face.
I fake a smile, I fake a laugh,
But feel the break in every half.

My limbs are stone, my breath is thin,
The war begins beneath my skin.
A thousand voices crowd my mind,
So cruel, so loud, so unkind.

"You’ll never change," they start to say,
"You’ll always feel this slow decay."
But still I rise—though slow, though weak
With no grand words I need to speak.

Some days I crawl, some days I stand,
Some days I need a steady hand.
But even when I barely move,
It counts. It hurts. But it’s a proof.

That I am here, despite the tide,
Despite the ache I try to hide.
I walk through storms no one can see,
A quiet war inside of me.

And though I fall, and though I ache,
And beg the dark to give me break
I push, I fight, I breathe somehow,
I may not win, but I won't bow.

So let the night come, cold and wide,
I’ll brace myself and still abide.
No crown, no cheer, no perfect light
Just one more step.
Just one more fight.