Buried Alive

i claw at the inside of my coffin lid

choking on my own exhaled waste

this would appear to be my demise

the end:

in my mouth;

i taste

i can’t see the ceiling of wood

just inches above my face

there is no leverage to hit or strike

there is just not enough space

i can’t twist

i can’t turn

i can smell

my own fear

i’ve pissed in my pants

i can’t believe that i’m here

the only release is still days away

this coffin it fits like a glove

even if i could escape past this wood

there’s still six feet

of compounded earth up above

the confines shrink in on themselves

with every constricted and laboured breath

the only release is an eon of pain away,

the only release is death