Taphophobia

Silence now

Paid subscribers can find the narration here.

Deep in darkness, eyes fly open, finding only shadows there,
Every breath is thin and borrowed, tasting of the stagnant air.
Pressed against my gasping chest, a slab of rough and hewn pine,
Pinning me to earthen floors, this narrow, wooden cage of mine—
Heartbeat slamming like a bird, a frantic pulse in rhythmic line,
Only this and nothing more.

Shallow breaths against the lid return to me both damp and warm,
Smelling of the loam and leaves before the coming of the storm.
When I move, the timber blocks me; splinters seek my softened skin,
While the heat begins to gather, pooling where my neck is thin—
Sweat is rippling with my heart, a fever rising from within,
Darkness over earthen floor.

Tightened throat and noisy swallows, flickering thoughts begin to fray,
As the shadows start to shimmer, blue stars dancing in the grey.
Jellyfish, those silent drifters, pulsing soft in deep abyss,
Floating through the roots and soil with a ghostly, silver kiss—
Teaching me to breathe again, a drifting, translucent bliss,
Rising through the coffin floor.

Trailing ribbons, long and ghostly, brush against my wooden room,
As the silver pulses fade and stillness settles in this tomb.
Pressure stays but pain is drifting, heavy limbs are slowing now,
Deep-sea dancers lead the rhythm, cooling off my fevered brow—
Light is thinning, drifters dimming, making their eternal bow,
Silence now and nothing more.

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