Ode to the Quitters in I Kept the Pieces That Hurt the Most

I’ve wasted years on quitters; ghosts wrapped in flesh, promises frayed, whispers of commitment turned to echoes, vanishing like breath on a cold glass pane.

They talk of dreams with borrowed voices, sing of futures they’ll never chase. Swearing loyalty while packing exits, always one foot in the grave.

Cowards in the war of effort, deserters of the long night’s fight. They never bleed, they never blister, just vanish when it stops feeling right.

And me; I’ve set fires to warm the faithless, built bridges for them to burn. But no more.

I leave the quitters to their endings, and carve my name in stone.