They used cheap wood to seal me.
It smells like pine. I scratch at it
claustrophobic hysteria. They never
tell you how dark and how alone
it is underground. And the silence,
unbearable. I am in a vacuum, somewhere
in space. Pleas for help, useless, I gather
the rest of my strength and push hard
against the planks. three feet of soft
dirt weigh against me. They were too
poor to bury me deeper into the earth.
I am not dead. I am not dead.
I scratch until my fingers nail start
to peel off, like the rind of a citrus fruit.
They cannot hear my angry pounding
I don't waste my breath shouting.
I devour the rest of the air slowly
and write goodbye with my nail-less
index finger. The blood trickles
against my face from the ceiling.
It's too dark to see if my word
is perfect. Then I wait and wait
until my mind and body finally rest.
14:36
No comments:
Post a Comment