Poems, Stories, And Unorganized Messes

Losers Quit...So What Does That Make Me

I'm so tired.
I feel I have a right to be.
Years and years and years...
Of dedicating EVERYTHING to this,
In hopes it will become something more than a hope.
But no.
I lost that hope a long time ago...
And I can't find anything else.
Anything else to use as a ladder,
As a drive,
As a flag on the mountain to strive for.
It was once be the best,
Then be better,
Then I'm not like them.
What do they see which I don't.
I'm confused.
And tired.
I want to stop but not quit.
I want to keep going but not push forward.
I'm not a loser.
But if quitters are losers and winners are victors...
What does that make me?
It'll stop, eventually.
Years and years to go, but it will stop.
And I'll miss it.
And I'll never be able to go back.
And I'll regret the victory I never had.
But will I be a winner?
Will I have quit?
I don't know.
I'm so tired...
What does that make me?