That's the breath before the graceful departure. Still, not quit yet? That's bloody-knuckle That is yet present even if here hurts.
I utter it mornings when the mirror shows a stranger who lost his ability to pretend, when the job is always taking and drawing, Love became a chore when I have no recollection of registering for.
Still not quit. It will not result in a motivational poster.
She didn't think she could, She didn't believe but kept going nonetheless.
As though leaving were neat, as though there weren't a thousand threads binding me to something slowly killing me.
Still not quitting is bravery. It's anger.