Caught

The walls close in—

granite shoulders hunched,

pressing, pressing until

breath becomes a stolen thing,

a whispered plea between

stone ribs that will not bend.

Behind: the avalanche of choices

already made, already fallen,

rocks the size of promises

blocking every backward step.

The path you took is buried now

beneath the weight of consequence.

Ahead: the cliff face rises

smooth as polished bone,

offering no purchase for

desperate, grasping fingers.

Each handhold crumbles

at the touch of hope.

Above: a slit of sky

so thin it might be

just a crack in the universe,

a taunt, a reminder of

the vast and distant world

where others walk in open air.

The pressure builds—

chest tight, walls tighter,

time measuring itself

in the slow erosion

of possibility.

Each heartbeat echoes

back from stone,

counting down

to stillness.

There is no good choice here,

no clever escape,

no hero's trick.

Only the terrible mathematics

of physics and fate:

two immovable forces

and you,

soft flesh and brittle bone,

caught between.

The walls continue

their patient work—

millimeter by millimeter,

they have all the time

in the world.

You have none.