me myself I got nothing to prove.

She's a fighter, they say. She'll be fine, she always gets through. And I do - but at what cost? What is left of me after all of this? Is living enough? What happened to quality of life? a mistake is a mistake is a mistake. So why am I just going through the motions? When does this become real... when do I wake up? Oh that's right - rhetorical questions don't have answers, and I am left to the demons. But of course, I can't say this is too much. I can't hide in my bed and cry out the pain... I get up, I force myself through each day - I look back wondering how we got so far in the days without even realizing I had slept and woke again. Wishing for something more, hoping for a better way : and I come up short, again. These words are empty, my head is full - and they say I'm a fighter. So I guess I will be fine, and I'll get through. I just wish I knew at what cost.