Buried Alive

The lid descends, a final, creaking groan,
Then silence, thick and heavy, all my own.
A breath, a gasp, a futile, frantic plea,
No light, no sound, just darkness crushing me.

The air grows thin, a suffocating hold,
My frantic fingers scrabbling at the cold,
Unyielding wood, a cruel and solid wall,
A tomb of self, where shadows rise and fall.

Each hurried beat, a drum within my chest,
A fading hope, put terribly to the test.
The frantic thrashing slows, a weary sigh,
As life's last embers flicker, start to die.

The world above, a distant, mocking hum,
Unknowing, uncaring, my senses numb.
A creeping chill, a silence deep and vast,
My final breath, a whisper from the past.