down, down the rabbit hole

corduroy curtains hanging from the window sill as tight as the rope around your throat

crimson argyle carpets articulate tears that hide behind the way you gloat

about the stain glass windows, porcelain kettles, and golden chandeliers

glorious materials all compensating for your fears

at dawn you emerge from the tulip gardens and wake

and inside your soul there is a pounding and it begins to shake

you feel the roots inside yourself begin to weigh you down

and the marble statues laugh at you without a single sound

you feel an aching sensation upon your fingertip

upon further inspection, within each bursts a single tulip

the pain is sharp you clutch your chest

but the stems combine and never rest

a single waking moment climbing through your soul

they carry you down with them beneath the rabbit hole

the symmetry in the stars create a lapse in your mind

and the inner workings of reality begin to then unwind

the decrepit tangled vines strangle you from within

and your mind draws back while swearing and repenting every sin

and then you yourself draw back and realize the reality

these vines and chains are what you were meant to be

nothing is holding you down

you fall deeper in the ground

your mind takes a step back to see

That the vines are hands and always will be

and the hands are yours and only yours

the dirt spirals as you get up off all fours

and once again you have returned

to the place where you were discerned

your consciousness has let you forget

all of the traps that you have set

and your eyes linger around the room

you know the light is coming soon

crimson argyle carpets articulate tears that hide behind the way you gloat

about the stain glass windows, porcelain kettles, and golden chandeliers

glorious materials all compensating for your fears

so full, so rich , and yet so vacant

you think of all that you have forsaken

with all you have and what you pretend to love

its time to fly, you pathetic broken dove

the brass knob is cold

this game is getting old

you enter the steamy room, the time has come to fleet

the ceramic green tiles are cold against your feet

the spout was left dripping

again you start tripping

your mind lingers back to the empty bottle in your hand

drink me, it said to the very broken minded man

you wish with all your heart

that you could just go restart

go back to the beginning of the story

and relive all of your glory

but not now, don’t think of such foolish things

the clock stops, and as they say, the fat lady sings

your time has come, you’re very late

very late, for an important date

your last hurrah is here, my dear

so say it loud and say it clear

make your descent get on your way

say goodbye to this lovely day

take yourself, take your soul

head straight down, down the rabbit hole