Runs like a rabbit from a shot that can’t catch her,
But the rope is still hers alone.
Always feels it in her,
Always feels it ready,
And she’s sinking like a stone.
And she can run,
And she can leap,
As far as any can go,
But at the end of the day,
It’s such a short way,
To the end of the rope.
– Continuation of one of the first poems I posted here, I finished it a while ago, but never actually wrote it down. Sometimes I sing this to myself while doing dishes.