Giving up is seductive—

Like honey dripping from a broken comb,

Sweet poison on the tongue.

No more bleeding knuckles,

No more midnight doubts,

Just the soft embrace of mediocrity.

It whispers with a lover's voice:

“Rest now, you've done enough.”

The path of least resistance 

Beckons with open arms,

Promising temporary peace

In exchange for permanent regret.

Everyone nods understanding,

Their eyes full of practiced sympathy.

"You tried," they say,

Their words falling like autumn leaves—

Beautiful, dead things

Covering the ground where dreams once grew.

But in the mirror at midnight,

When masks slip and truth emerges,

You'll see it in your eyes:

The ghost of what could have been,

Standing behind your reflection,

Wearing your face and someone else's success.

Failure isn't in the falling—

It's in choosing to stay down,

Letting dust settle on your ambitions

While comfort wraps you in its web,

Each strand a compromise,

Each day a small surrender.

Is the silence worth it?

When your story ends,

Will you recognize its author?

Or will you be just another cautionary tale

Of someone who traded tomorrow

For an easier today?

The choice is yours:

A soft death of determination,

Or the hard road of becoming.

Your reflection waits,

Patient as time itself,

For your answer.