How Far Down Does The Rabbit Hole Go?

The steps to the bathroom grow everyday.  No reason for this except the lengthening of the carpet of course.  This is likened to the depths of a hole or a whole, that being the sum total distance from other souls.   The passing of the day only deepens the hole.  Odd that the digging doesn't strengthen arms and back.  Every real effort falls to the foot stool and sway of an uncomfortable chair.  Fruitless attempts at finding one more comfortable is like tipping at windmills or pursuing legends of Cibola.  There is a loneliness in not trying, one that weighs on the task of pushing into the dirt and deepening the hole.  It is a shame that it offers no sollace or sanctuary.  At any moment dirt or water could come rushing into the hole in a deluge to cover sins, to cover any sustainable utterance of regret or forgiveness.  Too weak are the arms that would cling to the rim, reach out for a hand to grasp.  This hole might as well be a labyrinth, specters at every turn.  Why would seeking these demons be a better past time than marking the passing to its end.  What would that even look like?  In is out and out is in.  The difficulty and complexity of its architecture only proves the creative facility to sustain a facade for ethereal passing without.  Walking with others, doing work, buying gas, having meals only serve to make that hole a comfort at the end of tasking.  It is lonely and there is only introspective responsibility to account for it.  When everything else goes away, the hole beckons for another chamber, another tunnel to mire the reality of what others so easily aspire.