Hopeless —only in the sense of my mind not putting enough
time to keep up with my hopes
Always like chasing a thought; overlapping you constantly
on a marathon of racing with life choices
Do I choose to give up on hope, giving into my own despairs,
or is it better for me to give hope a second try, giving myself
the necessary time to heal?

Who hasn’t once questioned themselves, questioned
by their morals; all while questioning their purpose
As I see myself as that white rabbit, hopping carelessly over
their problems
Though it’s easy for the creature to get trapped in the hole
That gaping hole to every scar; makes the land of your heart a block
of Swiss cheese. At times life stinks until you find maturity

Usually you’re the bunny hopping in freedom, or hoping to be free,
in amongst all of life’s snares, and the weakness of flesh being
tasty meat for others.

Does hope become a habit, or it falls into the hole
of the people’s Blanc De Hotot rabbit?