A Room Without Escape, Claustrophobic and Tight

In a room that tightens with each breath I take,
Walls press in, a tomb of suffocating might.
Here, the air grows heavy, bitter with mistake,
Each heartbeat echoes in the pitch of night.
Escape is but a whisper of cruel jest,
Bound by dread, the room’s dark grip is tight.
The corners fold into the dark embrace,
No door to crack the tension of this plight.
The ceiling seems to bend, to close, to chase,
A prison where shadows mingle with the light.
Desperation’s hand scrapes walls of despair,
A mirror of the mind’s relentless fight.
Confined within, the silence stings like blades,
A cruel jest of fate that mocks the fight.
No room to stretch, no comfort in the shades,
Where every breath is fraught with choking blight.
The space constricts like a snake that coils close,
The skin of sanity stretched thin, so tight.
As time stands still within this prison’s maw,
The claustrophobic grip saps strength from might.
In every corner, shadows seem to gnaw,
A hidden foe that plays its dark delight.
The walls converge, a pitiless embrace,
Where freedom’s voice is lost to endless night.
Here, the eyes grow wide in frantic fear,
With every creak, the walls draw closer, tight.
The mind’s a cruel theater of the sphere,
Where hope’s thin thread is savagely contrite.
In the cell of the soul, no light to see,
The room’s confine a harsh, relentless blight.
Amidst the stifling press, a bitter jest,
To think of freedom while the walls are tight.
The room’s a cage that knows no bound or rest,
And every shadow fuels the deepened fright.
A prison of the mind’s own darkest maze,
Where freedom is a dream long left in haze.
In rooms where fear’s own whispers bind and bite,
The air grows thick, the walls draw ever tight.
A room without escape, a cruel delight.