No space is too small.
To hold enough air.
For a breath or two.
Or to crawl inside.
And simply hide.
I am no longer a child.
Scared of being smothered.
In a locked closet.
Alone and cold.
It's the people.
Bodies crammed together.
Pressed against.
One another.
Hot breath.
Of who knows whom.
People.
Each with a goal.
And too many.
Goals.
Breath quickens.
There is no escape.
Tremble.
Without clearing the.
Shoulders of giants.
The air runs out.
It knows how.
To leave a set of lungs.
But has forgotten.
To return.
I must be alone.
In a still.
Silent place.
Perhaps a moment.
In my head will suffice.
Eyes closed.
With no physical contact.
Let me learn.
To breathe again.
And do not near me.
For clear waters.
Do not mean.
Safe waters.
And nothing that is.
Really is.
YOU ARE READING
They made me write something here
PoetryBoxes and keys. That's all life is. But you must look hard. To know the difference. Between a chain. And a pair of wings.
