Shrinking World, Expanding Lungs

A poem on being buried alive. For more of my writing, go to andrewhenleywriting.wordpress.com

Hammering hands, red raw fists

knock on a

tightly

closed door. No answer yet

from dirt and death.

 

Splinters dig into soft

untouched flesh under fingernails; bite

like a broken key’s

teeth in a pre-emptive

coffin.

 

Twine bracelets,

clothes honey yellow

with sweat. Blood jewellery,

ruby earrings. Choking

on a fictional necklace,

 

air stuck

in the throat like vomit. Inhaling

darkness and dirt.

Shrinking world,

expanding lungs.

 

Mini avalanche of dust,

black sky slowly falling.

Fallen.

No escape.

Buried alive.

 

Last words,

last breath.

“Sorry,”

as it always should

be.

Reviews

[HLDXyQ3uGx]

It felt like I was actually experiencing this! You described it so well, and the flow was also very good. I really liked it!