The Quitter

He quit the gum, he quit the goo,
He quit the green and purple stew.
He quit the crunch, he quit the sweet,
He even quit his own two feet.

He quit the noise, he quit the chat,
He quit the dog, the door, the cat.
He quit his toys, his socks, his chair,
He even quit the fresh warm air.

He said, “Too much is far too much—
Too loud, too soft, too sweet to touch.”
He tied his hands, then zipped his lip,
Then quit his face and let it slip.

He quit the sky, the stars, the sun,
He quit the world, then everyone.
And when at last he wouldn’t blink…
He quit the part that learned to think.

Now in a jar upon the shelf
There sits what’s left—just bits of self.
A note reads: “He was very good.
He did much less than others could.”