In This House

Echoing through my mind
in some endless hallway
I wish I could open a door
to find an answer
rather than hear the knocking
of S.O.S against a wall.

By venturing in
I have found myself lost.
Curiosity killed my conscience;
now I linger in the purgatory
that is my mind, my morals,
my decision.

Spiraling down the staircase
I find myself on an infinite journey
farther from where I started
farther than I had intended to go.
I travel blind for darkness is my friend,
my shadow left me at the door,
and sanity slowly takes his exit.

Time passes in some invisible hourglass
leaving me to wonder when it has run out.
When it does, will it mean I have found
the key to open that door to find out my answer,
or will it be my demise forever wondering:

Not what if, but why not?