Confined Spaces


I'm afraid of small places, where walls become faces
Whose mouths open wide and slurp me inside,
I'm afraid of shrinking, and constantly thinking
That bedrooms are cells like car trunks and stairwells
Where air will pervade of bones all decayed
And basement doors lock dusty floors
Of cricket heads and baby doll beds

I'm afraid I'll be trapped or tightly rewrapped
In layers of sleeves (for sweaters deceive)
And closets are tombs inside clean-looking rooms,
And think of the dread if shoved under the bed
Or the growing horror that backs into corners

I'm afraid of descending through darkness impending
Beneath and below with nowhere to go
I'm afraid of what kind of irrational mind
Persists to make small what really isn't, at all

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