Grit

I’m tired.
It spreads through me like ice,
          Like fire.
From the tips of my fingers to the 
                    Odd,
                           Strange numbness
At the tip of my nose.


And on nights like this I want to stop.
                                                                        Curl up in bed, and sleep.


But a voice persists, in the back of my mind.


“You’ve been through worse.
You’ll be alright.”


And I can stay awake
           A little longer.