I.
Most of my time is spent lost in the wheat fields; searching for the path that will lead me to the garden gate. Sometimes I get a hint from the rabbit with the wooden leg, but I only follow him long enough to see that he's leading me back to the same dead end; the tea party- All rats- Dressed in white.
I'm sick of his preaching and pretending. Wearing a waistcoat and pocket watch doesn't change anything; He'll always be vermin.
I trusted him once; mistook the gleam in his lazy eye as a spark of friendship. I asked him to come with me long ago, to leave his fox den in search for salvation; he just sneered at me with his gold toothed grin, and refused to quit the game he was playing. For he'd rather live the life of crooked vulture, stealing pieces of soul and flesh from the helpless.
I avoid the rabbit and his blood crusted nails, and continue looking for the pebbled path that will lead me out of this deceiving paradise.