Bandaid on Bullet wounds

The bell tolls at the midnight hour and I'm restless and awake My chest is heavy and loneliness is pressing down I'm unsure how much more I can take- The ripping, stabbing agony still hits my heart in waves And every man I've ever met that knows this pain have been cured and saved But the only way to end it is to trade this life for a grave How can a heart writhe in pain accompanied by misery and still continue to beat despite grief's fatal blow at perfect projectory? So I self soothe and nurse myself to short term intervals of relief Merely a bandaid on a bullet wound Healing that on the surface but not what is underneath Will I die or will I live? Only time will tell- The trenches of this war for love are no doubt, the pits of hell.